Heart Trouble
by Cerulea
Summary: Dean's having a harder and harder time of denying what he feels for a certain blue-eyed friend of his.  And it's making him a little ornery, and a lot confused.
1. Heart Trouble

**Short and sweet. Dean's having a harder and harder time of denying what he feels for a certain blue-eyed friend of his. And it's making him a little ornery, and a lot confused.**

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><p>Dean had a habit of saying things without meaning to.<p>

To a lot of people, he was a mystery. And to other's he seemed utterly uncomplicated - a handsome drifter, looking for a couple of beers and a good time. But to the people who really knew him, namely Sam and Bobby, he was essentially an open book. Complexity and all. Because Dean was complex, no matter how simple he tried to be.

Now, getting the _details_ of what was distressing Dean was like pulling teeth. But it was easier than first grade math for Sam and Bobby to figure out when there was something wrong in general. Because Dean had a way of projecting his feelings all over the place, especially when he was trying to keep them hidden.

Essentially, Dean was obvious.

And Sam always caught on.

But there was one thing Dean was _not_ going to let Sam figure out. _Ever_. Granted, his little brother was very observant and could tell something was irritating Dean and had been for weeks. But Sam also noted that it was an almost comical irritation, as opposed to the familiar, dismal, _heavy __is __my __soul _kind of upset that Dean seemed to go through now and again. So while Sam was curious, he wasn't worried.

So thus far, Dean's secret had remained just that.

And thank God for that, because this was _not_ a conversation he wanted to have, especially with his brother. As Dean sat down at the little breakfast table in their less than swanky motel room, he thanked his lucky stars that Sam hadn't figured out what he was brain-wrestling with before he'd gotten a chance to deal with it himself on his own. Now Sam was out for his morning run (the health-nut), and Dean finally had a minute to himself to sit down with his coffee and think.

Like he had a choice.

This damn..._problem_ was on his mind all day every day whether he actively set aside time to consider it or not. A _problem_ that showed up unexpectedly and disappeared just as quickly. A _problem_ that challenged him, but exhilarated him all at once. A _problem_ with blue eyes and nervous hands.

An _irritation_, that had him a stuttering mess every time it bothered to grace them with its presence.

_Castiel_.

Dean kicked the table leg with frustration as the mere thought of the angel's name sent a chill down his spine. He tired to think back and pinpoint the moment when this had happened, when he'd become infatuated with an overly literal soldier of God that wears an ugly trench coat and terrifies hookers. He'd tried many times to identify the instance when everything changed, the magic moment... But he never could find it. Dean just realized one day that whenever Cas showed up, his chest would relax, as if he'd been holding his breath until he saw him again. Dean noticed that when he felt low and alone, it was _Cas_ he wished was there. And he acknowledged that recently, his hands would tremble when Cas was in the room, and his bottom lip would be sore when Cas finally did leave because Dean would have spent the entire time biting down on it. Out of nerves, or some subconscious, Freudian desire to kiss him...

Dean shook his head before the fantasy could depict itself in his mind. He always stopped short of letting himself imagine something like that.

Nevertheless, the desire to think it was still there. And now every time he saw that jackass his heart would thump ridiculously in his chest.

But he never could figure out when exactly all this had started. It seemed like maybe it had always been that way and he'd only now just noticed. And it was throwing him off his game.

It felt like... having a crush.

_Jesus_, just thinking it had Dean smacking his palm down against the table. He wasn't some fourteen year old girl! Cas was a _dude_. Not even a dude! He wasn't even a him, he was an _it_! But...an it with...with a...you know - a _dick_. So yeah, he was a dude, even if he was also an it.

Dean rubbed his eyes. This was insane. _That__'__s __it_, he thought, the proverbial lightbulb going off above his head. _I__'__m __insane. __I__'__ve __finally __lost __it __and __as __a __result, __I __have __an __unnatural __attraction __to __a __friend __who __has __helped __me __through __a __lot __of __crap._

_Like __Stockholm __Syndrome, __right?_ Dean shook his head. Even he knew that wasn't an accurate analogy. But he was grasping at straws. Was his attempt to make this make sense _that_ lame? He sighed heavily, standing to put his coffee cup in the sink.

Turning from the table he gasped suddenly, and dropped the mug - it smashed on the floor as Dean came face to face with none other that the _irritation_ itself.

"Damn it Cas!"

"Hello Dean."

"Some warning, man. I've told you."

"I apologize."

Dean looked down at the shattered fragments of the mug, "Crap."

"Allow me," Castiel got down on the floor and gathered the shards of the cup into his hands and before Dean could blink, the thing was made whole. Dean raised his eyebrows, always impressed at Cas' true power. "There," Cas looked up at Dean from his position on the floor, satisfied with his handiwork.

And as Dean looked down at him, a truly inappropriate thought crossed his mind at the image of Cas on his knees on the floor in front of him...that look of satisfaction in his eye. Dean's heart leapt into his throat and he gave a short, nervous laugh for, what seemed to Cas, absolutely no reason.

Cas' head tilted at Dean's odd behavior and a familiar flutter passed through Dean's chest at the quirk that was so cute on the angel.

_Wait, what? "Cute?" Dude, what the hell?_ Dean cleared his throat loudly.

Cas squinted at him and stood up fully, placing the mug on the table behind Dean, having to reach past him to do it. And Dean definitely didn't breathe in his familiar, unidentifiable but enticing scent of the angel as he leaned in close. Definitely not. That'd be weird...

Castiel squinted hard at Dean, tilting his head once more.

Dean's heart fluttered again as he watched Castiel perform that oh so familiar, oh so Castiel action. _Again?__Really? Shut up!_ Dean thought angrily at his own heart, cursing the organ that was beating so loudly he was sure the whole city could hear it.

Castiel's eyes focused on Dean's chest then, and Dean stopped breathing. Dean could swear those blue eyes nearly bored a hole into his shirt, that stare was so intense, so focused.

"What's wrong with your heart?" Castiel asked sincerely, his gaze not faltering.

"What?" Dean's hand came up to his chest, resting over his heart instinctively, as if he could hide its traitorous thumping from the angel. His mouth went dry.

"Your heart, its beat was briefly... erratic. Are you injured?"

"No," Dean said defensively, realizing Cas must have heard his inexplicable reaction to their proximity. Dean was quickly becoming even more embarrassed about said reaction. He took a deep breath, actively trying to calm his heart, but the way Cas was staring...

"There - it did it again." Cas said as he stepped in even closer. Dean watched with shallow breath as Cas raised his hand to Dean's chest, resting it there lightly. Dean could feel the warmth of Cas' palm through his t-shirt and closed his eyes for a fraction of a second before snapping himself out of it. He fought against leaning into that touch.

Castiel's eyes were intense as they adopted a far away look, as though he was concentrating entirely on the sound, the feel, of Dean's beating heart.

Dean swallowed hard, almost choking when his body realized it had barely been breathing.

Castiel _Hmm_'ed quietly before looking at Dean, whose eyes were wide. "I am concerned for your well-being, Dean."

"That's nice, Cas. But... I'm pretty sure I'm fine. It's just... nerves."

"You are nervous?"

"No!" he answered a little too quickly, and Castiel noticed, Dean could tell by the ever so slight narrowing of his eyes. So to cover his obvious dishonesty, Dean just kept talking, "Too much coffee this morning. I'm jumpy. Caffeine's got me all wired, ya know? No, I guess you wouldn't know. Angels don't need coffee right?" He laughed awkwardly.

Castiel gave an honest half-smile, and Dean felt like there was magma pooling in his chest cavity. He prayed Castiel didn't sense that too.

And either he didn't, or he ignored it because Cas took his hand from Dean's chest and took a step back. "Personal space," he quoted Dean sincerely, "I remember."

Dean smiled, offering pathetically, "Don't worry about it... really."

Cas gave a short nod. "I'll be going."

"Wait!" Dean called a little too desperately. Then he panicked, not having any idea what to say now that he'd stopped Cas from departing. And here the angel was, blue eyes fixed on Dean expectantly, awaiting an explanation.

Dean had to think fast, "You never said why you showed up in the first place." He simultaneously patted himself on the back for thinking of something logical to say, and kicked himself for making it sound like Cas better have a good reason to be there.

Cas looked for a moment like he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, before turning to Dean and answering, "I wanted to check in."

There was an awkward moment of silence as Dean's stupid, thumping, annoying heart kept telling his brain, _Read __into __it! __He __wanted __to __see __you! __He __just __came __by __to __see __your __face __and __check __in __because __he_ - "Oh. Thanks." He couldn't stand to think too much about Cas while Cas was standing right there - what if he could hear?

"Your welcome," Cas offered politely.

Dean wanted to say _I__'__m __glad. __Come __whenever __you __want._ Maybe even, _I __like __it __when __you __come __by_. That would certainly let the angel know he hadn't meant that Cas needed to have a reason to visit. He was just working up the courage when Cas stated abruptly, "I must go" and was gone. Just like that. Nothing but the brief breeze of his wings left behind to say goodbye properly.

Dean exhaled long and hard, bad mood settling over him the moment Cas was gone. He plopped down into his chair at the table, running his fingers over his newly re-formed coffee cup. The simple white cup didn't look like much, but now the thing was special. He mused about how no one else who stayed here would ever know... this silly little object, had literally been touched by an angel. Dean wondered if Cas using his power to put the thing back together meant that a little bit of Cas was infused in the cup, like angelic Castiel-residue was forever splashed across it, invisible to the human eye. Dean considered putting the mug in his bag to bring it with him wherever the went next...

Then the door opened, Sam came in, and Dean was immediately hating himself for being such a sentimental loon.

Feeling the frustration rolling off of his brother, Sam pulled his headphones out of his ears and quirked a look at Dean, hoping to be able to read him.

Feeling the stare, Dean asked sharply, "_What_?"

"Still in a mood today, huh?" Sam stated nonchalantly, grabbing a towel from the bed.

"No I'm not," Dean bit, clearly expressing the opposite.

"Dude, seriously?" Sam said, looking at his brother with that face that said, _Really? __We__'__re __still __doing __this?_.

Dean avoided his eye contact. "Shut up."

Sam shook his head and headed toward the shower. Maybe when he got out Dean would be in a better mood. _Yeah __right_. Either way, if Dean didn't shape up soon, Sam would be forced to figure out what was bothering him for himself.

Dean did feel bad for taking all of his feelings out on Sam. It wasn't his brother's fault after all, and Dean was being a dick. He could admit that to himself. He'd have to make it up to him - let him pick the music on the next drive or something.

Dean wandered to the counter and refilled his coffee cup, sipping his black coffee and smiling when the ceramic touched his lips.

He wasn't even thirsty.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed!<strong>


	2. Car Trouble

**Hello again! So, this is essentially a sequel to "Heart Trouble", or I guess you could call it a continuation. I was just going to leave that one alone because I typed up the idea really quickly and didn't have any solid plans for it to go somewhere. But a couple of you guys said you felt it was really unfinished. And I know how it sucks when you get into a story and then it just kind of... ends. So I felt bad and I figured I'd keep it going. Besides, who doesn't want to see Dean get all flustered and fangirlish over Cas?**

**(If you don't, consider the question rhetorical and turn back now. _Foreshadowing!_)**

**Hope it meets your demands lovely readers!**

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><p>Car Trouble.<p>

Dean was rolling down the street contentedly, listening to the radio, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel along with the beat. It felt nice to take an early day. He and Sam were always on their way somewhere new, that was a given. Always on their way to or from work. So most of Dean's driving was out of necessity, and he'd found a way to keep the joy in driving despite that. So he never got tired of being behind the wheel.

But it seemed after several hours in the car, Sam couldn't stand another second of Dean's brooding.

Dean's bad mood seemed to stretch on for weeks, but in waves. His disgruntled, crabby behavior seemed to erupt and dissipate suddenly in a pattern that Sam was all too frustrated not to be able to figure out.

And Dean couldn't dare tell his brother that it was anything from the mere thought of Cas to having a waitress with blue eyes that set him off.

So poor Sam was left to deal with a mysteriously ornery Dean more often than not, for reasons he hadn't been able to pry from the man. And being stuck together in the car for hours while Dean stewed in his juices was finally making Sam just as angry as his brother.

All he'd done was make one harmless little comment to break the ice, and Dean had all but bitten his head off. Sam had noted, after sitting in the car for hours with his newly-misanthropic brother that Dean still had the cheap ceramic coffee mug from the last place in his cup-holder. It was odd, Sam thought, that Dean should bring a less than travel-efficient cup with him everywhere they went. He wondered if Dean was having more trouble than usual dealing with the lack of sleep their lifestyle plagued them with.

"You're drinking a lot of coffee these days," Sam had said innocently, just wanting to speak for the sake of it.

The look Dean reared on him was enough to scare Sam - not an easy task. Dean narrowed his eyes, turning them on his brother narrowly, and the green of the irises practically glowed with murderous intent. Dean said nothing. He gripped the wheel tighter and fixed his eyes on the road, and Sam looked back out his window.

Another long stretch of silence fell on the car. Until Sam was too indignant to stand for it anymore.

"That's it," he'd said tightly.

"Oh what now?" Dean whined angrily.

"Pull over."

"What?"

"Dean, pull the damn car over now."

"Fine. Don't get your panties in a twist princess." Dean pulled over to the curb. He'd barely stopped the car before Sam was throwing the door open and climbing out.

"Hey, hey! Where the Hell are you going!"

"See that motel," Sam motioned down the block, "I'll be there. I am done being in the car with you for today. Done." He went to storm away but thought better of it and came back to lean into the window fixing his brother with a frustrated glare that let Dean know Sam was barely containing the urge to punch him. "For the record, you're being a little _bitch_!"

Dean was shocked stupid for a moment by Sam outburst before responding maturely, "_You__'__re_ the bitch! Bitch!" He knew Sam was right, but was too stubborn not to save face.

Sam shook his head, storming away toward the motel. Dean thought he heard a muttered, "Unbelievable."

_Clever __Dean. Nice comeback_. "Shut up," he told his reflection in the rearview mirror. He slammed the Impala into drive and took off down the road, flipping Sam the bird as he passed him.

After that it didn't take him long to calm down. And now, he had a moment to take into account the pluses of Sam's bitch-fit. They weren't going anywhere, so they actually had a night off. That hardly ever happened. And now Dean was driving for no reason, just because he wanted to, because he hated to sit still and he loved his baby. He rubbed his hand over the dash affectionately, smiling to himself. He thought, having the Impala, was kind of like having a dog - it was part of the family and he liked to treat it right.

He didn't want to go back to the motel just yet, and sit around his moping brother who would no doubt want to know what Dean's malfunction was. And Dean was absolutely _not_ going to come clean about that - he'd recently convinced himself that it was a phase. He would get over it. So there was no point in going back and driving Sam crazy by refusing to have a heart to heart.

So Dean gazed at the sleepy mid-western town as it rolled by his windows wondering what trouble he could get himself into tonight. He smirked as he saw two pretty girls on the sidewalk, and took the right out of town, wanting to get some fresh air before stopping for dinner. He gunned it once out on the isolated two-lane highway, listening to the Impala roar, fierce as ever. He smiled to himself, feeling for once like the old Dean, like the guy who was unstoppably charming, a hustler, a badass. He turned up the radio.

With his spirits picked up he thought about what he could do to make use of the good mood. Go hustle some pool maybe, get a little spending money in his pocket. Have a few shots down at the local dive. Maybe even get laid -

The Impala sputtered suddenly, jerking Dean with the sudden falter in their previously steady velocity. "Woah, woah," Dean gripped the wheel tight and the whole care shook and groaned. And when thick, white smoke started billowing from the hood, Dean pulled the car over to the curb and put it in park.

"What the Hell?" he turned her off and pulled the lever to pop the hood. He stepped out of the car quickly going to the hood and lifting it, met with another mushroom cloud of impossibly white smoke. Dean coughed, waving his hand in front of his face and squinting down at the engine. As the smoke dissipated Dean hoped he would see the problem right away, but the longer he looked, the more confused he became. He checked everything. And then he want to the ignition, tried to turn the engine over and was met with a terrible high-pitched whining. So he went back under the hood and checked everything _again_.

He was baffled.

He knew this car inside and out. He'd rebuilt it, practically from scratch. There was no problem on this Earth he couldn't fix when it came to the Impala. And yet, here he was, on the side of the road with no friggin' clue as to why it had crapped out on him.

Dean kicked the tire out of frustration - _Just __one __more __thing..._

He reached into the car and pulled out his cell phone, flipping it open. His brow furrowed and he looked off to the distance - _no __reception?_ His gaze fixed on the cell tower not a mile and a half away. They'd just been on this road earlier, and reception was fine then. He opened and closed the phone a few times, finding it had no effect on the lack of signal. Angrily he chucked the useless technology back into the car.

_Perfect_, he thought. He stood there a long time, leaning against the side of the car, knowing he should have a plan of action. He pretended to be waiting for another car to pass by so he could ask for some help; but in reality, Dean loathed the idea. Asking for help with _his_ car, from some stranger, like a friggin' civilian yuppie? No way. He was too proud. He even put the hood back down, so it wouldn't look like he was having car trouble.

_Stupid_, he thought. _What __are __you __gonna __do __- __stand __here __all __night?_

"Yep," he answered himself stubbornly.

But then, with impeccable timing, his stomach growled. He peered in the back window thinking maybe one of Sam's protein bars was still hanging around back there, but all he saw were maps and take-out wrappers.

He sighed, leaning back against the car. _Perfect_...

No car, no cell, no way he was gonna stand here all night without anything to eat. _Guess __we__'__re __walkin__'_.

Dean closed up the windows and locked the car, stowing his keys in his pocket and headed off down the road, back towards town. Suddenly there was an earth shattering crash that made him throw his arms up over his head and turn his eyes to the sky. Off down the road, on the horizon in the direction he needed to travel, was a low-hanging black cloud. Dean looked behind him - nothing but blue sky for miles. He turned back toward his destination, thinking briefly that he could weather the storm no problem, before a crack of thunder shook the street and a bolt of lighting struck on the hill in the distance.

"Holy crap," he muttered and turned back to the car, and couldn't hep but feel like he was being herded.

The broken down car (that he knew for a fact was in mint condition), the cell phone that suddenly couldn't pick up a signal from a tower that was a mile away, the very isolated storm - the hair raised on the back of Dean's neck. Maybe he wasn't out there alone. Maybe something was trapping him.

He had a trunk full of weapons and a crap-ton of know-how, sure... but he was in the middle of nowhere with no back-up and nowhere to hide. Bad thing about the midwest - parts of it are damn flat and tree-less. No woods for Dean to hide in, no place for him to lay low. What could he do but stay there like a sitting duck?

_Friggin' perfect._

But then he had palm-to-face moment of "duh". He knew exactly what to do.

_Castiel_.

A shiver rolled down his spine - _Damn __it, __stop __that!_

He shook his head a little harder than necessary as if trying to get water out of his ears, and took a deep breath. His heart was already beating faster -

_Oh stop it._

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Dear Castiel,"

_Dear? "__Dear" __Castiel? __Are __you __friggin__' __serious? __Who __starts __a __prayer __with "__Dear"?__What__'__re __you __writing __him __a __love __letter? __Get __it __right, __Dean!_

"Uh..." he cleared his throat, "Cas, I'm uh... kinda stranded here and I'd love it,"

_Love __it? __You__'__d __**love **__it? __Jesus, __man! __Pull __it __together!_

"Or uh, I mean I could use a little help-"

"Hello Dean."

Dean's eyes shot open to see an all too serene Castiel standing before him.

"Wow... I mean, uh, that was damn fast."

"I heard you call. What seems to be the problem?"

"Why does there have to be a problem? I mean, I could just be checking in you know. Saying... yo."

_Real smooth..._

Castiel tilted his head and Dean's heart jumped into his throat, an expected reflex for the Hunter at this point. But then Cas fixed his eyes on Dean's chest.

_Oh __God, __not __this __again_.

Cas almost smiled. Almost. It was barely an expression at all, but Dean didn't miss it. He wished he could see it again.

"So there is no problem then?" Cas asked, though Dean could swear he knew the answer already.

"Well, uh, there might be."

"Might?"

"My car crapped out on me all the sudden. She doesn't do that. She is, very reliable."

"She?"

"Yeah. Cars and boats, ya know?"

"I'm sorry?" Castiel asked sincerely not following Dean's erratic train of thought.

"My dad always taught me, cars and boats - they're always ladies."

"They're inanimate, they have no gender," he stated with confusion.

And damn if that befuddled look wasn't the cutest - _Damn __it! __Stop __it!_

"Anyway," Dean cleared his throat loudly. "It's just, out of the ordinary and I couldn't reach Sam and then there's the freak dry lightning," he turned toward the storm to show Castiel the impending doom in the sky, but instead found the sky was bluer than ever. A few cotton-white clouds sliding by at their leisure. "What the...?"

Castiel looked at Dean expectantly.

"There was a storm, there was! I saw it. It shook the friggin' ground, I thought I was gonna get electrocuted."

"Well, it appears to have gone now," Castiel offered calmly.

And there it was again, an almost-smile. Dean couldn't stop staring, as if he was afraid he'd miss another one of Castiel's vexing expressions. A long silent moment stretched between them, and Dean was oblivious.

"Dean?"

"What?... Oh! Yeah. What Cas?"

"You seem distracted."

"Tsh, _no_," he denied lamely.

"Shall I transport you home?"

"Um, yeah, I guess. Hate to leave my car here on the side of the road, ya know?"

"Hmm," Castiel looked the car over, seeming to consider something in depth. He stepped up to the vehicle and, having no sense of boundaries, stood uncomfortably close to Dean. Castiel looked down at the Impala, obviously thinking hard, and seemed not to notice that his shoulder was brushing against Dean's.

All Dean could do was notice - he couldn't _stop_ noticing. He slid ever so slightly toward the Angel, almost without realizing he was doing it, so their shoulders would touch more.

Castiel laid his palms flat to the car's hood.

"You know you'll smudge the-"

Suddenly Dean was on his ass, in the dirt on the side of the road, his car nowhere to be seen. His eyes darted around, "What - what the?"

"_She_ is back at your motel," Cas informed Dean, taking special care to say _she_ instead of _it_.

Dean looked up at the angel looming over him, the sky bright behind his head, outlining him in a way that had Dean wondering if he was a mirage and realizing very pointedly that Cas was in fact, sent from Heaven. Cas reached down his hand and Dean was breathless as he took it and the angel pulled him up to standing.

"Thanks Cas," it came out rougher than he wanted, and he cursed his vocal chords for being so easily effected.

Cas nodded curtly, before raising two fingers to Dean's forehead. But Dean jerked away before Cas could make contact. He looked at Dean, uncertain.

"Not my favorite method of travel, Cas."

"Regardless, it is the only method available to you at this moment." He sounded a little short, as though Dean turning down the offer to be zapped back to the motel had hurt his feelings and now he was irritated. "Of course you could walk-"

"No," the last thing Dean wanted was for Cas to feel like he didn't give a crap about him, like he didn't appreciate everything he'd done for him. "No, I'll go with you. Thanks, you know, for showing up."

"Of course," it was a short, business-like response that Dean strained to read into. But there wasn't much there to work with, and his heart sank because of it, even as he told himself to _grow __a __pair_.

Then Cas came in close, so close that Dean could smell him, could feel the warmth of his body through their clothes and through the three inches of air separating them. He stopped breathing, his heart pounded wildly.

"Dean?"

Dean's voice barely scratched out as a whisper, "Yeah?"

"There's no need to be afraid."

Again, Cas had mistaken the meaning of Dean's pounding heart. Dean stated, "I'm not."

"I've done this to you many times."

_You know what else you'd like him to do to you many times..._

Dean let out a sudden, sputtered laugh. It bubbled up from his chest and out of his mouth beyond his control. At Castiel's confused expression, Dean ducked his head embarrassed, "Sorry." He cleared his throat.

"Ready?" Cas asked, his voice deep.

Dean nodded. And then Cas' hands slid slowly up Dean's arms to his biceps, gripping him tight. And Dean didn't have time to think about how unnecessary the touch was before it felt like the floor had been dropped out beneath him. Before he had time to stumble at the disorienting feeling, he opened his eyes and he was in the motel.

But Dean barely took in the sight of the motel at all, because when he opened his eyes, all he saw was blue. All he saw was Cas.

Cas was standing close, blue eyes examining Dean as if to be sure he wouldn't faint. His hands were still strong, vice-like, on Dean's arms, and Dean didn't bother to try to shrug him off. The force of it, the weight of the hold, it actually felt good.

_Push him away._

Dean was entirely trapped in Castiel - his eyes, his grip...

_Push him off. Say something! What're you doing?_

Dean's heart beat wildly as his own hands raised, almost without his permission, from hanging limply at his sides to touching lightly the fabric of Castiel's trench coat.

_Dean! What the Hell are you doing!_

With one hand his fingers curled in the over-starched jacket as if he were afraid it would disappear. Dean's other hand moved towards Cas' abdomen until he could feel the fabric of Cas' white dress shirt on the back of his hand. He pressed the backs of his fingers into the warmth and solidity of Cas' body, wishing to turn his hand around and run his fingers up Cas' torso and chest...but he didn't act on it.

He does feel Cas' grip tighten almost imperceptibly on his biceps.

Cas looked at Dean with a new kind of fascination and Dean was immediately addicted to the look.

Cas stepped in even closer, his eyes inhuman in their degree of focus, the blue burning into Dean, disarming him, rendering him utterly defenseless. Dean felt as though he was bolted to the floor - he couldn't have moved if he wanted to. Cas' impossible strength held Dean in place and he felt in that moment like Cas owned him, and he was strangely ok with it.

_Holy crap Holy crap Holy crap holy crap - _

Cas leaned in, his breath on Dean's lips like oxygen for a drowning man. Dean's eyes slid closed, willing it to happen...

And then there was a gust of wind and the sound of wings and Dean stumbled, dizzy, no longer having Cas there to hold him up. He shivered from the loss of body heat and his eyes flew open to find Cas standing across from him not three feet away, looking terrified.

Dean was about to unload weeks of frustration and confusion on the angel when suddenly the motel door opened and Sam came through. Cas visibly shook off the encounter, looking normal as ever.

Dean's heart ached for a moment, wondering if it was always that easy for Cas to brush Dean off. Being a measly human, Dean didn't find it quite so easy to hide how wound up he was.

Sam took one look at his brother and squinted - Dean's cheeks were flushed, he looked embarrassed and irritated and strangely unsteady on his feet. "Hey," Sam greeted cautiously.

"Hey," Dean returned, trying to fake normalcy. But his voice came out low, rough, and shaky.

"You good?" Sam asked, sensing something was off. "Hey Cas," he added, as an afterthought.

Castiel nodded curtly. Dean deflected attention from himself asking, "Where ya been?"

"Around."

"Wow. Specific."

"Lunch. Library. Scoping out the town. You?"

"Oh, just uh...driving. Ran into some freak car trouble. Cas here helped me out."

"Car trouble? With the Impala? And you needed Cas to fix it?" Sam almost smirked.

"Hey, it was a freak thing! Nothing is wrong with that car. It must have been a curse or a spell or... In fact, I'm checking for hex bags right now." Dean stormed out on a mission to prove his baby's perfection, glad to have a reason to get out of that room.

Sam laughed lightly, shaking his head. "He loves that thing," he mused, smiling.

"It's a her," Cas stated matter-of-factly.

Sam squinted at him.

"I should be going."

"Ok man, be-" and with the sound of wings and a slight breeze, he was gone. Sam muttered to himself, "...safe."

Outside Dean was muttering to himself whilst bending over his front seat to look into the back. He knelt on the seat shoving around the debris on the floor in the back, driver's side door standing ajar to allow for his legs sticking out.

"Dean."

Castiel's voice made Dean jump, and he smacked his head on the ceiling.

_Damn__it_. He extracted himself clumsily from the Impala and looked at Cas with irritation, rubbing his head.

"I have examined you car... _her_," he added awkwardly, "and I found that it... _she_, possesses no evidence of witchcraft. You are safe."

Dean was listening. Really he was. Just because his eyes had drifted from Cas' eyes to his lips, and Cas' voice had turned into a non-specific rumble of baritone instead of discernible words didn't mean he wasn't listening. He was just...listening with his eyes... Lipreading would be a good skill to hone, right? That's all he was doing, just lipreading. He wouldn't stare at them - Cas - those - it - him, for no reason.

"Good," Dean stated, straightening up to his full height.

"I need to be going."

Cas' departing statements, if they were lucky enough to receive one at all, were always abrupt. But usually, his departure was just as abrupt. This time he waited after he spoke, looking at Dean as though he were waiting for him to say something back.

Dean's brain went painfully, embarrassingly blank. He just stared at the angel, nodding slightly.

Just as Castiel looked away, avoiding Dean's eye contact, aware of the awkwardness, Dean lunged forward.

He slapped a hand roughly on Castiel's back and said, inexplicably, "Go get 'em buddy!"

Castiel's eyes measured Dean curiously as the man backed away again, stupid grin on his face as he knocked clumsily into his car. Castiel nodded, looking slightly confused, and then was gone.

Dean immediately turned around and thumped his forehead onto the Impala's roof.

_What in the Hell was that you friggin' spaz! **Buddy?** Dude...you need more help than you think. Maybe... maybe this _isn't_ going away..._

Dean thumped his head against the shiny black roof repeatedly.

_Sexy Dean. Real sexy._

He groaned, feeling like a total moron.

_Do __you __realize __what __you __almost __did __earlier?_ Dean picked up his head, folding his arms onto the hood and leaning his chin on his arms. He gazed out into the darkening parking lot, remembering the almost-kiss in painfully accurate detail. Why was it killing him so much that their lips never touched? Was it obvious that he'd wanted them to, so much?

Dean sighed heavily, more confused than ever. He shut the car door weakly and wandered back into the motel room, too preoccupied with the Angel on his shoulder to take note of his brother's obnoxious smirk.

"Going for a shower," Dean muttered. He didn't look up from the carpet until his brother slapped him hard on the ass, using his best Football huddle voice, "You go get 'em buddy."

Dean's cheeks burned scarlet, he looked up at his brother sharply. Sam was on the verge of a laugh, but Dean couldn't think up an excuse for his bizarre behavior in the parking lot (that Sam had obviously witnessed) so he turned and stormed toward the bathroom.

"Dude, what the Hell was that?" Sam called through the door, mocking.

It only took a few minutes of quietly laughing to himself about Dean's girlish blush and weird stammering before he put two and two together.

Sam's eyes went wide - "Holy crap!"

Dean threw open the bathroom door, alarmed and alert, thinking his brother was under attack. "What! What!" He looked Sam over, seeing he wasn't hurt, and scanned the room quickly for enemies. Seeing none, he looked back to his brother, awaiting an explanation.

But Sam could only stare at him, because for the first time when he looked at Dean he tried to see a man that was, if Sam was right, in _love_ with Castiel.

"Sam, what? You ok?" Dean asked, concern creasing his brow at Sam's obvious sudden change in mood and slack-jawed expression.

Sam snapped back to reality, nodding slightly. "Um, yeah. Sorry. There was... I thought... It's nothing."

"Dude, seriously... you need to unwind." Dean went back to the bathroom, shaking his head.

Sam dropped heavily onto his mattress, sitting almost completely still. He had to save all of his energy for his brain, because it was gonna take some thinking to decide how he felt about this. Or at least... he assumed it would. But the more he mulled it over the less surprised he was. He thought maybe he always knew. He wondered, a little sadly, if Dean even realized what was going on with himself.

_Of __course __he __does_, Sam realized, _that__'__s __why __he__'__s __being __such __an __ass_.

_Ohhhhhhh - now it makes sense._

This was big. Like, Dean might disappear on a bender, Cas might smite someone, the wrath of Heaven could rain down on them (again) kind of big.

And yet, Sam was kind of... happy. And it wasn't just because he was relieved to have figured out what was eating at Dean, though he was. He wasn't sure why, but he was just kind of... smiley, for the rest of the night. And Dean's mocking didn't really get to him that much after that. The bad mood was almost endearing now that Sam understood.

Big brother was in love.

* * *

><p>Castiel sat, quietly smirking, on the park bench. His hands were folded neatly at his knees as he squinted out into the night. Today had been... different. He'd had millions of days, but today... today stood out.<p>

It had been a long way to go for a simple few minutes alone with Dean and an excuse to touch him if even for a second, but he felt now that it was worth it. He'd never bothered to manipulate a human quite so severely or specifically - especially for his own selfish purposes. The car, the cell phone, and ultimately the storm...

It was a lot of work for a split second of forced alone time.

But then, hard work was relative. Cas barely needed to snap his fingers for the Impala to stutter and whine, and barely strained an angelic muscle in creating that illusion of a storm. _It __was __too __easy,_he warned himself. _Now __you__'__ll __be __wanting __to __do __such __things __all __the __time. __Be __careful __Castiel._

He saw nothing wrong with a little innocent manipulation - many of his brothers were guilty of much worse. All Castiel had done, was make sure that his charge needed him.

If he happened to enjoy it,

well that had nothing to do with anything.

* * *

><p><strong>Ok, now you've got me going and I think there needs to be more. <strong>**I think they're gonna need to kiss at least, right...?**


	3. Wardrobe Malfunction

**I am so sorry for the long wait between postings! I have been, oddly enough, in transit for _days_ and therefore not able to post as regularly as I'd intended. Thus, I offer you this weird little chapter as an apology. It's a deviation of sorts, and came from the reviews that said they liked the idea of Cas manipulating Dean for his own purposes. This chapter takes that to a new, utterly ridiculous level...**

**I promise I'll have a better, or rather more on-point chapter up soon as I can - when I return to the world of easily accessible internet. But for the time being, I felt bad leaving it undone so here's some over the top stuff to hold us over.**

**Thanks so much for the reviews - they are digital encouragement that is much appreciated! **

**OK, I guess I've stalled enough, here you go...**

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><p>Wardrobe Malfunction.<p>

It had been a long stake-out, from eleven the night before until now almost five a.m. and though the sun was just breaking through the clouds signifying the start of a new day and most of the world's wake-up call, Dean was ready to pass out. Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling his shoes off, eyes drifting closed without his permission. Sam barely worked up the energy to turn around when he heard a frustrated grunt coming from across the room, but when he did he laid his eyes on a sight he couldn't quite identify - Dean had his t-shirt pulled up, holding it under his chin, so that he could look down at his crotch unhindered, where he was currently wrestling with disturbing fervor with his zipper.

"Uhh... dude?"

Dean didn't bother to stop pulling on the zip of his fly to answer his brother's obvious confusion, "I'm stuck!"

"Dean, what-"

"My friggin' zipper is stuck!" and with a final pull he nearly knocked himself over as the metal pull-tab came loose from the zipper. Dean exhaled, flustered, and looked at the little metal tab in his hand as if it was the biggest, most mysterious nuisance he'd ever experienced.

He sighed heavily, throwing the tab onto the bedside table. "Forget it," he collapsed onto his bed fully dressed and was asleep in a matter of seconds, not moving a muscle, even in sleep, until he woke several hours later.

When Dean awoke on top of the scratchy bedspread he was warm and stiff and at ease. Sam was nowhere to be found, but Dean wasn't worried. He was feeling pretty good having finally slept longer than three hours straight. In fact, he realized yawning and rubbing his hand through his hair, that was more consecutive sleep than he'd gotten since he could remember.

He trudged to the bathroom on heavy legs, still feeling a little pull of sleep, but oddly refreshed. With his eyes blurry he headed to the toilet, threw up the seat, and went to undo his fly only to have his fingers fumble over the zipper as though the act weren't ingrained muscle memory at this point. He opened his eyes and looked down at his zipper to find the tab gone and groaned in irritation as he recalled the great zipper debacle of earlier.

He stood in front of the toilet and fought with the damnable zipper for twenty straight minutes, becoming more and more enraged when he couldn't seem to make the damn thing budge.

At some point he chuckled at the pants' imminent defeat, having decided to stop screwing around and just pull the damn pants off by force - he could fix the zipper later. Or more likely, just throw them out. But hard as Dean tried, he couldn't get them down without the zipper undone. He couldn't seem to slip the denim over his buttocks, which was odd because Dean didn't wear his jeans particularly tight. Dean figured tight jeans were for guys who liked to paint and ride bicycles and flat-iron their hair. No, he was a relaxed fit kind of guy. So the fact that he couldn't seem to fit pants that he considered loose enough to be manly over his hips was a little unsettling.

"I gotta start running..." he muttered to himself, concerned.

He stormed back out to the main room, determined not to be bested by a stupid pair of pants, and pulled his knife out from under his pillow. He had the blade pointed at the waistline of his jeans, mere centimeters away from the denim before he stopped, thought, and said out loud, "Dude...so not worth the risk."

He tossed the blade back down on his bed and worked at the zipper again.

Castiel stood across the room, shrouded in invisibility, unable to not smile as he watched Dean laugh mirthlessly down at his own crotch, challenging the denim under his breath. If it had been in his nature, he might have laughed out loud. Dean's growing frustration was both amusing and strange to Castiel, and though he enjoyed watching it, he simply couldn't stand to anymore. He'd have to pretend of course that he didn't know what was going on, to allow Dean to save face, and also, to play his own game.

A breeze blew in the stuffy motel room and Dean looked up to see a genuinely curious-looking Castiel cocking his head at him. Dean was stone still for a moment, the fact that he had been caught with a handful of his own crotch not even remotely escaping him, especially since Castiel's eyes seemed to slide from Dean's face to his groin and back to his face with that calm assessment that he wore so well.

Castiel made his face the perfect mask of unamused perplexedness. "Is this a common behavior for you?" he asked, a less than subtle tone of irritation in his voice. He was proud of himself for the deception; his voice successfully presented a terseness that would go along with his feigned frustration, despite that on the inside he was smiling - especially at Dean's mortified expression.

"Hey...Cas..." Dean laughed awkwardly, barely meeting the angel's eyes. Cas seemed irritated, and Dean couldn't say he blamed him. He must look like an idiot right now. He tried to play it tough with Cas most of the time. He knew Cas had him beat in strength, knowledge, faith, ability to be somewhere when needed... Dean liked to at least be a better human. Cas was bad at that. Dean was confident that his con-man level qualities of charm and deception would always have him one step ahead of Cas where the human world was concerned. He often used those qualities to convince himself that he wasn't just some measly cockroach of a mortal thing to Cas. That he knew things the angel didn't and maybe that meant Cas needed him somehow.

But then, things like this happened... and he felt like a child Cas had to babysit lest it climbed into the refrigerator and suffocated itself by accident.

_I mean come on... who can't get out of their own pants?_

_Ridiculous_.

_Embarrassing_.

_At least explain yourself!_ Dean cleared his throat, "Zipper's broke," he offered lamely.

Cas rolled his eyes. He stepped toward Dean impatiently. On the inside Castiel was ready to combust with nerves and conflicting feelings; he couldn't believe he was going through with this insanity, he judged himself harshly for it. And he did feel bad for manipulating Dean in such an outrageous fashion. But at the same time he couldn't wait to see how it played out. He found himself... excited.

Dean stood up straight, suddenly feeling very exposed. And as Cas stormed toward him in a huff, he couldn't stop himself for backing away out of instinct.

"Allow me," Cas demanded, one hand heading toward Dean's lower half.

"Woah, woah!" Dean jerked away. "Allow you to _what_? I don't need you to take my pants off for me, damn it!" He nearly doubled over in his desperation to cover his junk with his hands.

Castiel's eyes were cold and sharp as they bored into Dean, assessing him clinically.

Dean asserted, his voice at near-panic decibel, "You do not just take a man's pants off without his permission!"

"Fine. Dean, may I have your permission to remove your pants?"

Dean choked. _He can't be serious? He sounds serious... Maybe I should let him, and then who knows, things could get out of hand and that would be ok with - No! No Dean! Real life, not porn!_ He cleared his thoughts with a shake of his head, "No! No you may not!"

Cas sighed heavily, now becoming _legitimately_ irritated. This plan was not going how he'd hoped - though honestly, he hadn't known what to hope for. He simply felt himself becoming very frustrated very fast. He couldn't quite understand what he wanted from Dean in this moment, and the confusion was exhausting him. "I don't see the purpose of removing one's pants in the middle of the day in the first place," he muttered lowly, turning away.

"Some people - human people - have to pee every once and awhile," Dean exclaimed defensively.

"Perhaps if you allowed me to reassemble the fastening properly," Cas offered.

"What, fix the zipper?"

"That's what I just said," he responded, squinting in confusion.

Dean blushed hot, "...Fine."

_Wait, what?_

"Very well." Castiel came towards him again and Dean, reflexively, backed up until his backside hit the table and he couldn't go any further. Castiel stood mere inches away, tilting his head and squinting very pointedly down at Dean's crotch.

_Oh boy. Here we go..._

"This is insane..." Dean muttered to himself. Castiel seemed to entirely ignore him. He simply tilted his head to the side in that way tat made Dean's heart feel like it was pumping magma instead of blood.

_Keep it together man..._

But then Castiel reached out, running a deliberate finger over the zipper of Dean's fly before Dean had time to pull away. So instead of _No, don't!_ Dean's only reaction was a gasp and his mouth going entirely dry as Castiel's finger slid slowly all the way up to the button.

_Holy crap!_

Castiel ever so gently pressed his hand to Dean's groin, until the zipper of Dean's jeans was touching against the skin of his palm. It was a pressure-less touch, Dean could only feel the warmth of his hand there, but seeing it, knowing it was there...

_Holy crap, he's touching me. Yes, yes, yes -_

_Wait - no, no, no - PERSONAL SPACE! Way too much, way too much - getting kind of - oh crap - Dean, make him stop looking before you embarrass yourself!_

Dean smacked Cas' hand away and Cas looked at him with those big blue, _I don't understand what's happening_ eyes and a little bit of the _Please don't be mean to me Dean_ eyes and Dean's heart was pounding which was a miracle because he could swear all of his blood was headed in a different, more southward direction.

"Cas, that's... not really appropriate man..."

_When the fuck did we get so proper?_

Cas shook his head in obvious confusion, wiping the vulnerability from his face with a clear and effective dismissal. His slight blush remained despite himself, and Dean couldn't help notice it. "Nevertheless," Cas stated backing away from Dean, his eyebrows raised tightly in that way they did when he was miffed. "It's done."

Dean looked down at the zipper and grabbed the newly repaired metal pull-tab, successfully sliding the zipper up and down a little before laughing up at Cas, "Hey! Look at that! Thanks man." He looked at Cas' irritated expression and, in trying to lighten his mood, of course said the wrong thing, "Hey, just another thing to put on your resume - personal tailor."

Cas' eyes focused on Dean's sharply, and Dean froze where he stood.

"Of course Dean. The next time you step on a pebble or can't manage to dress yourself, give me a call and I'll be sure to drop everything and tend to you."

And in a beat, he was gone, and Dean felt awful. And embarrassed. And a little uncomfortable that he still couldn't stop feeling Cas' finger running phantom strokes over his fly...

He sighed heavily, finally heading back to the bathroom.

_Hopeless_.

* * *

><p>Castiel was immediately perturbed and ashamed by his behavior. He was not so innocent as not to know where he'd touched Dean, the implications... He was disappointed in himself for this particular plan - a broken zipper, ridiculous. And he also was disappointed in himself for his shortness with Dean. His frustration built from his inability to identify where these seemingly unmanageable emotions came from, aside from knowing it had something to do with Dean Winchester.<p>

Castiel had been feeling rather mischievous that morning, and being that he had grown irritated with Dean over the unprecedented emotional confusion that the man presented for him, he'd felt it was well within his rights to have a little fun. It wasn't until later, when he thought back on the absurdity of it all that Castiel started to feel guilty.

He wondered if he wasn't in his right mind. In his right mind he never would have expended angelic energy for something so preposterous and ultimately pointless. All he'd gained from this bizarre social experiment was another blasphemously tempting forced interaction between he and Dean in which the air was heavy and things went unsaid and unidentified physiological responses were triggered and unidentified feelings were felt. Again.

It was a mistake, doing these things to Dean and then showing up to undo them himself. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn't enough that he'd pulled Dean from Hell... Perhaps he felt the need to continue saving him over and over, even if in the most menial ways... Perhaps, he was terrified that Dean wouldn't need him anymore, and so he just kept creating situations which warranted him continuing to claim the man as his charge. Situations previously less ridiculous than today's.

Somehow he only left that encounter even more confused, even more on the verge of... _something_. Something he still couldn't understand, except to know he felt it creeping around the corner and he was at a loss to stop it.

Castiel felt something dark and sinful melt, white-hot, through his body, spreading out from his abdomen. It was like poison, like poison that he loved, even though he knew it was killing him.

It wasn't as though Castiel, in his thousands of years of existence, had never experienced lust. He had, in his small way, possessed that fraction of desire that was to be expected for the majority of his species. But that natural thing was a far cry from what he felt today. Today and every day he watched Dean go about his human life, oblivious to him.

And in Castiel's silent reflection on his actions, their motives, and what being near Dean had made him feel...Castiel began to question everything he thought he understood of desire in the human sense.

He wondered if by playing these games, he wasn't wrenching himself down from Heaven one lust-tainted decision at a time.

And that frightened him.

But what frightened him more, was that he wasn't afraid enough to stop.

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><p><strong>More to come...<strong>

**Thanks again for reviews! They are a lovely present to see in my Inbox! And tis the season for presents...**


	4. Car Trouble Part II

**Thanks for all the favorites! Makes me feel all fuzzy inside...**

**Reviews are so helpful, keep 'em comin'!**

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><p>Car trouble.<p>

Part II.

Dean was feeling guilty over his last encounter with Castiel. He had all but smacked himself palm to forehead when he realized what a slight his little 'personal tailor' joke must have been to a friggin' Angel of the Lord. Castiel could be sensitive about his relative power, and Dean knew that because he was the same way about his masculinity - needlessly constantly proving himself.

Dean had been thinking a lot lately about how little respect he afforded Cas some days, and he felt awful about it. The guy had done everything for him asking for nothing in return, and Dean was acting like a thankless tool. For some bizarre reason Dean's reflex reaction to realizing he had it bad for Castiel was to treat him like crap.

_You're overcompensating, idiot._

He sighed, not having the energy to argue with himself today. He was too busy getting trapped in the thought of Cas' face when he'd held him close that one fleeting time; the angel's hands gripping his shoulders hard enough that the next morning Dean noticed two handprint-shaped bruises on his body. One of the bruises overlapped with the original handprint Cas had left on him, and Dean kept sneaking into the bathroom to pull up his sleeve and look at it. He was fixated on it for some reason, the look of a new brand by Castiel making his blood race and something whirr deep in his stomach every time he examined the purple-gray dusting of finger marks over the pink, raised print.

They'd never talked about that incident.

And now Dean couldn't stop thinking about Cas' expression when he'd slapped his hand away from his zipper - hurt, confused, a little indignant in that way that showed his underlying strength and knee-jerk desire to display said strength.

They hadn't talked about that either.

Dean wanted to call Cas, to pray to him so that he could see him again and smile at him in hopes that he'd smile back in that subtle, unpracticed way he did and the guilt in Dean's gut would dissipate. All wrongs forgotten. But he felt he couldn't call Cas without good reason (setting things right between them not being reason enough in Dean's mind). He knew they were past the point of having to have a life or death reason to communicate, they were friends after all. But he had to have an excuse in order to work up the nerve. And they hadn't had a case in two weeks that warranted angelic assistance.

He just kept hoping that Cas would simply appear, like he did sometimes, and Dean would have the opportunity to stop _overcompensating_ and be extra nice to him. He wanted to. Honestly, he always wanted to be sweet to Cas. Even though he often seemed to fail at doing so, and do the opposite instead. The truth was, Dean did _want_ to be nice.

Just like he _wanted_ to grab him and kiss him.

He _wanted_ to push him against a wall and nip at his pale neck and rut against him like a horny teenager until the friction of denim on dress slacks alone would make them both crazy. And then he _wanted_ to hear the sound Cas made when Dean awakened that hungry, dirty side of him. Because Dean _wanted_ to be the one who did just that.

He _wanted_ to ask him to be around more.

But wanting and doing were two very different things. And for whatever reason, when it came to Castiel, Dean lost his gusto with the doing, which only made the wanting hurt that much more.

He sighed heavily, trying not to judge himself too harshly for counting the minutes until he saw the Angel again.

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><p>Sam was at a loss.<p>

Sam Winchester was without a plan... It simply wouldn't do.

There were only so many times Sam could call Cas for no apparent reason and then also abruptly depart (also for no apparent reason) leaving the angel alone with his brother. He was staring to run thin on excuses and it was irritating him that the two wouldn't just get together. Granted, Sam would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying this little adventure as matchmaker. It was all for love, right? And Sam believed in love. And love was a lot better of a thing to dwell on, to take up the hours between hunting, than thinking about Lucifer and Hell and every other nasty thing that had happened in the past.

_No. Love is much better. Hell was the past. Love __is __the __future..._

Ok Sam even had to mock himself for that one. But in a way it held true. With all the pain they'd endured, they needed something light to look forward to. And if Sam had anything to say about it, Cas was going to be that light for Dean.

The ridiculousness of the almost-relationship between Dean and Cas was kind of a God send. Sam needed something like it to occupy his time and energy. Thinking about relationships and who would be good for each other, and strategizing how he was going to get them alone, was just like being a _normal_ person. It was a civilian kind of concern, and it had been so long since he'd had the luxury of indulging in any such activity.

Despite Sam's initial surprise, he was getting pretty damn stoked about the idea of Dean and Cas getting together. Sam had always wanted Dean to find someone, and though he'd been happy with the idea of Dean living some depressingly uninteresting _Leave __it __to __Beaver_ life with Lisa, deep down he'd always known that she wasn't the one for Dean.

But he couldn't defend the statement, so he didn't bring it up. He'd hardly had the conviction to believe his gut on that one. So he'd let it play out, hoping for the best. But he wasn't surprised when it didn't work out. He was sad for Dean, yes, sad for the love his brother wouldn't get to have. But not at all surprised that Dean wouldn't get to have it with Lisa.

Now that he considered Dean to be _in love_ with Castiel, Sam had a strange feeling like he was looking forward to watching his brother finally get that dream fulfilled. Of course, Dean wasn't going to make it easy. Matters of the heart were never easy for the Winchesters, but Dean had an especially stupid track record. His relationships were almost none, there were really only two. And both them as well as every fling in between had been based upon sex.

Sam was certain, it was time for Dean to aim higher.

_What's higher than Heaven...?_

Cas would be different - and not just because he was a guy. Sam had spent a good amount of time in the past few weeks mulling over the way that Dean and Cas stared at each other, were drawn to each other as if magnetically, and the would annoyingly forget that other people were in the room when they were close to each other. Sam had mistakenly assumed that because of all of this, all he would have to do is give them some alone time together and the sheer sexual tension and unspoken affection alone would ignite the two into a virtual firestorm of face-sucking.

Alas, it wasn't that easy.

As far as Sam could tell, the two were keeping their 'healthy', platonic-by-a-thread distance despite his finagling.

But if there was one thing Sam was, it was persistent. It ran in the Winchester genes.

No brother of his was going to live his life devoid of the joy of angel-sex with the man he loved - _unacceptable_.

Sam smirked to himself thinking, _This __is __gonna __be __fun..._ Getting Dean and Cas together was the right thing to do, sure, but that didn't mean Sam couldn't have his solely recreational fun with it. Besides, after all Dean's gay jokes at the expense of his sensitivity, his considerate manner, and of course his hair, and all the times Dean had called him _Princess_ and _Samantha_, it was about time that what went around came back around to Dean. Sam couldn't wait for Dean to work up the balls to try and come out to him. It was gonna be hilarious. He'd be all flustered and hyper-masculine, and Sam would act dumb for his own amusement...

Oh yeah, this definitely had to happen. Sam would see to it.

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><p>Dean was singing quietly along with the radio as Sam lay stretched out across the backseat, his arm flung over his eyes to block the too-bright morning sun. Dean glanced to the backseat and took in the sight of his overgrown little brother catching some much needed rest. As Dean's eyes were traveling back to the road, they suddenly caught the sight of a figure sitting in the passenger seat where only a split-second ago there had been no one. He almost slammed on the brakes, but realized it was Castiel and stopped himself at the last moment, succeeding in only gasping and luckily in not disturbing Sam by sending them careening off the road.<p>

"Hello Dean."

"Damn it, Cas," Dean whispered angrily, glancing in the rear-view.

"I apologize for the lack of warning-"

"Keep it down, Sam's sleeping."

Castiel glanced briefly at the backseat before settling into his seat stiffly and sitting silently, staring out the windshield at the road ahead.

After a long moment of waiting for an explanation, Dean started, "So...?"

"May I speak?" Cas asked sarcastically, throwing Dean's demand for quiet back in his face.

Dean rolled his eyes. Cas took it as a _yes_. Dean's terseness bested a lot of people's patience, but Cas could match him eyeroll for eyeroll, stare for stare, curt statement for mouthy jab and temper for short temper. Cas was particularly sharp on this day because he was still bristling from the awkwardness of their last encounter, and had against his better judgement and despite his embarrassment allowed himself to arrive at the decision that he needed to see more of Dean - in a strictly _business_ related way... Or so he lied to himself. In reality he just couldn't stay away.

"I need you to avoid involving yourself in any angelic warfare for the time being. I am having a difficult time watching you and watching my enemies in both Heaven and on Earth."

"Sam and I still on Heaven's Most Wanted list, huh?"

"The status seems quite comfortable on you."

"Yeah well, what I can I say," he gave a crooked, cocky smirk, "we're a couple of rebels."

"Rebelling against Heaven tends to get one killed or cast down into Hell."

Castiel's tone was dark, and Dean noticed, frighteningly tired. "You saying you regret it?" Dean glanced over at Castiel to see the man's brow furrowed, he was looking down at his hands with great preoccupation. "Hey," Dean started strongly, "you did the right thing for once by standing against those ass-hat brothers of yours. Don't go bitching out on me now-"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted, exhausted he leaned his head back against the seat in frustration. "I don't regret defying Zachariah. Or even Michael. They were, as you said, ass-hats. If there was anyone who deserved being stricken down..."

Dean let that sink in. There was a definite reservation in Cas' tone. "But?"

"I've become..." he looked out the window, struggling with his words, "...segregated."

Dean wondered if that was Angel-formal-speak for _lonely_. He immediately felt his irritation melt into empathy.

Cas continued evenly, "I fought Lucifer and Michael directly, that act makes me unusual in and of itself. I actively disobeyed what I thought at the time to be God's word. And I have escaped certain Death. I am the only one of my kind... I'm... I am still an Angel. I will never be a man in the human sense. But, there are times..."

Dean's voice was gentle and coaxing, "There are times what, Cas?"

"I don't know that Heaven is my home anymore." He turned his blue eyes to Dean and he could see Castiel's worry, his distress at the thought. It was breaking the Angel's heart to even think such a thing; it was written all over his face that he feared his feelings were yet another betrayal of Heaven. Dean knew he must be really caught between a rock and a hard place, and he got that. He wished he could make it better, easier.

When they'd saved the world, Dean and Sam didn't have a community to be cast out of in the aftermath. Other Hunters hated them, but that was nothing new, and nothing like being reviled by your own family. Cas had given just as much, and now Dean wondered if even though that war was over, he was _still_ giving, while Sam and Dean had all but moved on.

Cas' voice came out low and shaky, "Having experienced mortality, nearly humanity... I find I cannot be how I used to be. I look at my brothers and sisters - emotionless, mechanical, certain of purpose, incapable of individuality, and sometimes I am thankful I seem to have... evolved. But there are times when I believe it would be easier... To be how I was."

Dean shivered at the memory of Cas after he'd gotten the Guantanamo treatment from Heaven and came back cold, untrusting, a soldier only. But Dean knew now, that even then, the compliance was only on the surface. Beneath he was still confused, still _Cas_. Dean had been there himself once, fighting to get out from his father's grip and be his own man, and he didn't envy Cas that stuggle. Even now, he was still so torn.

"Being there, being the one that is stared at..." Castiel's eyes drifted in a way that told Dean he was seeing something far away - maybe Heaven, maybe the predatory eyes of brothers and sisters who simply didn't comprehend him. Suddenly he snapped back, and his voice was strong, his eyes hard, "I don't fear any angel. I am fully capable of defending myself against any one or more of them, and they know it. They don't dare disparage me to my face."

Cas' eyes were blue fire, his voice a dangerous, commanding sound. Dean nodded, seeing that in that moment, Cas' strength was important to him. He needed it reaffirmed, and for once, Dean was able to do that for him without a joke at Cas' expense. And in a way, it was good to hear him talking big again.

It kickstarted that familiar whirring in his abdomen.

Cas' eyes softened at Dean's acceptance of his boast, it was good to know Dean still knew he was strong. He felt so doubted, so judged. He dared to admit, "I am not one to be cowed by any of my equals. But knowing what they think of me... And I do know. Because years ago, I would have felt the same way towards any Angel who had betrayed his family, his Father, gone against everything I knew for..."

Dean and Cas' eyes met for an instant before they both looked away. They both knew what was left unsaid. Dean's hands tightened on the steering wheel and his heart made its familiar flutter. _An __Angel __who __had __betrayed __his __family, __his __Father, __gone __against __everything __he __knew, __for... for __one '__righteous' __man. __ F__or __me._ Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Cas leaned back, relaxing into his seat once more. "Perhaps I need a vacation," he muttered, smiling to himself. And the oddity of the joke was just what Dean needed to break him out of the nearly debilitating emotional clusterfuck happening inside him.

"Maybe you could stick with us for this next case," Sam piped up from the back seat.

Dean and Cas were both visibly shocked by the sound of his voice, having forgotten Sam altogether. But Sam couldn't bother to be offended, this was just the opening he needed...

"Sam, how long you been up?" Dean asked, staring straight ahead and feigning nonchalance.

"Oh just a sec," he lied, rubbing his eye for emphasis. "Heard Cas say he needs some R&R. I think you should tag along with us. Work this next case. Minor leagues for you, I know. But we can always use the help, and you wouldn't have to go back upstairs for at least a few days."

Dean's knee-jerk reaction was to scream _No!_ and and demand Cas go back to his world and leave him the Hell alone. But that was only because being around the Angel without being able to fully acknowledge to himself that his obsession with Cas was in fact _real_, was going to kill him. But that instinct faded as soon as the realization came that Cas might be around longer, and, Dean's baggage be damned, that was great news. He'd wanted for awhile now to demand Cas stick around, to ask him not to leave, but he could never work up the courage. And look at his luck, Sam had done it for him. Now he'd have the chance to spend time with the Angel and finally have the peace of mind of knowing where he was as opposed to wondering constantly if he was out there in the universe getting himself killed.

Dean fought a smile. "Be nice to have an extra hand," he said quietly.

It seemed to be all the convincing Castiel needed.


	5. Denial and Suppression

**Sorry for the wait! You know how it is, Holidays and all... Happy New Year, by the way.**

**Thanks again for the reviews and favorites.**

**"You're awesome."**

* * *

><p>Denial, Suppression and The Intermittent Lack There-of.<p>

As it turned out, constantly being around Cas was actually _exactly_ as difficult as Dean had anticipated.

There was a part of him, the part that had yelled _NO! _when Sam suggested Cas stick around, that felt vindicated by Dean's current distress. Despite enjoying the Angel's presence immensely, Dean was baffled by the realization that he was also very much _not_ enjoying it. Everything was easier when his doses of Love Potion Number Cas were few and far between - he'd take one hit to his system and be reeling for days, but he'd have recovery time between visits. Now Cas was here, _constantly_, and Dean was exhausting all of his mental and emotional fortitude keeping his hands and eyes off him.

And on top of it all, Dean would go to bed at night, exhausted from self-restraint, and when he fell sleep he would no longer be able to actively control where his mind went. As a result, he found that all he dreamt about were blue eyes and porcelain skin and angelic passion so fierce that Castiel would face certain death unwavering, undaunted like some sort of hero, and all for _Dean_ - or rather, for Dean's very important cause.

He dreamt, in that confusing disjointed way, of black wings that he couldn't quite visualize but were still so very present; of tightly held shoulders and shy smiles and pale hands that could skim so soft and somehow still grip so tight...

And then Dean would wake up with the handprint on his shoulder tingling.

And it would all be made a thousand times more awkward by waking up from these images with the real thing sitting not six feet away, watching TV with a clinical interest that did not even remotely allude to entertainment.

Being that Castiel had been asked to stay and accepted that invitation, he took total advantage of the chance to escape Heaven and do what a human would consider _nothing_. Of course, Cas never really did nothing. But he rarely left the motel, or the car, or Sam and Dean's side. And it had been a few days now that Dean had experienced a fitful night's rest laden with stirring, mosaic sequences of the angel which left him in a cold sweat, and then had awoken with Castiel in the same place on the couch that he'd been when Dean managed to fall asleep the night before. The angel would sit, still as stone, with the TV lighting the planes of his face as he observed carefully. Dean noted that Cas was more like studying the phenomenon as a whole, than watching really.

And he would greet Dean the same every morning - a gravelly, even, "Good morning Dean," offered without so much as turning his head to see that Dean was, in fact, awake. It sent a jolt through Dean's heart that somehow Castiel just _knew_ he'd woken. The jolt may have been terror.

What else did Castiel just simply _know_...? Could he tell that Dean's blood would race every time he came a little too close? When Dean's heart thumped, and Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean's chest curiously, could he tell it was only happening because of the Angel himself? Did Castiel, God forbid, know what Dean had been dreaming? Had Dean let slip Castiel's name in his sleep? He hoped not. He really, _really_, hoped not. That would just make it even worse and this was hard enough.

Wanting to openly stare at Cas, smile at him and sit close to him and compliment him for no friggin' reason but having to keep a lid on it...

It was making Dean absolutely nuts.

_Way to be a total girl, Winchester. Why don't you write him some poetry too..._

_Oh shut up, it's too early for this._

But Dean could not shut up that voice in his head. The more Cas was around, the louder it got up in his melon -

_Say something to him._

_Don't you say anything._

_Kiss him._

_Don't you touch him!_

His confusion was so riotous that sometimes he worried other people could hear it from outside his skull. And that was terrifying, because neither Sam nor Cas could ever know about this - about how on the down-low Dean really was. It was too much to have to explain after a lifetime of truly genuine girl-chasing, and he could barely work through it himself.

And to top it all off, Dean's emotions weren't the only thing that were confused. _Little Dean_ was giving him a hard time, literally, more often than not.

Dean's sexual frustration was starting to become unmanageable. Something had to give. His level of blueballs was worthy of medical study. He found himself constantly buzzing with this low current of arousal in Cas' presence. But he couldn't get any relief. He could _not_ jack-off in the shower knowing that Cas was an _oh so sensitive_ superbeing who happened to be sitting in the next room and could probably _hear_ him, or might _sense_ that Dean was doing something and thinking of _him_ and then come and investigate and then Dean would have to kill himself.

That would be mortifying._ I mean, what if he mojo'ed his way right into the shower with you? That'd be... just... terrible._

_And then he'd be wet. And watching you. And what if he tilted his head in that way... and what if he was curious, so you just let him -_

_No! Stop it! Jesus, man! What is your problem? He sitting right there! Pull it together Dean. For the love of God, you're not fifteen, just keep it together._

_And just...don't stand up for a minute..._

It seemed like Castiel was entirely oblivious of what he did to Dean. And in some ways Dean was thankful. But in others, it just made everything worse.

For example, how was Dean supposed to concentrate on the new case with Castiel in just his slacks and white dress shirt, a few top buttons undone? Dean could see the little hollow at the base of Castiel's neck, between his clavicle, and Dean could just imagine dipping his tongue -

_Stop!_

_Oh, come on! What am I supposed to do?_

_Right. Cause the healthy heterosexual thing to do when you see a sliver of another guys neck is to imagine going at him like a deer with a salt-lick._

_It's not my fault! _Look_ at him!_

And Dean did. Castiel's suit jacket and trench coat had been cast aside, his tie pulled even looser - all of it done in appreciation of the human concept of casualness. He was even sipping coffee he technically didn't need, out of a little white ceramic mug Dean could only assume the angel didn't remember. But Dean remembered. And he got an odd sort of fascination from watching Cas' lips touch the smooth surface his own had touched so many times before. It was rendering the Hunter entirely without focus.

"Dean?" Sam asked roughly, finally breaking through Dean's glossy-eyed reverie.

He snapped his head towards his brother, "What?"

Sam examined him closely, huffing, and asked, "Did you get any of that?"

"_Yeah_..." he lied obviously. And when Sam fixed him with a look he admitted, "Alright, fine. Say again."

"Are you gonna listen this time?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean turned a little away from Castiel, deciding instead to focus on the food in front of him, hoping to supplant one distraction for another less consuming one. "Ok so what's the case?" Dean asked barely paying attention. His focus was on the sandwich he was practically swallowing whole.

Sam squinted down at the multiple newspaper clips he'd been collecting, "Not sure. I think we're looking at something that affects people psychologically. Not a cut-and-dry case of a monster wanting to eat people, but something with a bigger motive. Trickier, at least. Like a wraith, or something like what we saw with the truth goddess, Veritas."

"Great..." Dean muttered sarcastically. That Veritas thing wasn't a great time for either of them. "Body count?"

"Only one so far, but a whole lot of weird happening. Like with the wishing well-"

"Ugh God, I hated that case."

"Dean that was bush league compared to what else we've been through."

"Yeah well, you didn't spend half a day bent over a toilet."

Sam laughed at Dean's expense. "True. Anyway, the majority of this town seems to be having a mid-life crisis all at the same time. Quitting their jobs, spending their life savings, breaking their marriages, pulling crazy stunts that land them in the hospital. The place went from being entirely obscure to making the papers every day. They've gone from being normal, tax-paying, everyday Americans to acting like a bunch of uninhibited daredevil freaks, damn the consequences."

"So any idea what the cause could be?"

"Not yet. I don't think we'll be able to get a handle on that until we can pin down an origin or motive."

"Maybe it's a demon or a witch and they want these peoples' souls so they're having them indulge."

"I doubt it's a demon," Cas offered, not bothering to look up from what he was reading.

"You sure?" Dean asked skeptically.

Cas looked up, staring off into the distance seeming to focus on something he only saw in his head. Sam and Dean exchanged looks. After a long, quiet moment Cas looked at Dean, "I'm sure." He looked back down at his reading material.

"Good enough for me," Sam offered.

"Alright," Dean said, sounding resolved. "Tomorrow we'll start grilling the locals."

Castiel set his book down looking at Dean with a furrowed brow. "I can only assume your use of _grilled_ is an idiom which means _questioning_?"

"I don't know, I've heard the other-_other_ white meat cooks up pretty good barbecue style," Dean joked cynically.

Castiel squinted at him, his eyes hard.

"I'm joking..."

Castiel shook his head a little before returning his focus to his book.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and the angel.

* * *

><p>They had been in this town one day and already they knew everyone.<p>

Sam and Dean had donned their monkey suits and spoken to the police about the most recent string of violent acts, one of which included a teenager named Bryce Ryerson, who always seemed so quiet and reserved, maybe even a little too much so, who had snapped and taken out both his father and a schoolmate with a metal bat.

Thinking this boy might be the smoking gun that gave them their best lead, Sam and Dean had split up to work two different angles.

Dean had the surveillance footage from the murder at Ryerson senior's place of work, and was sitting at the little table in their motel room going through it frame by frame, trying to find anything from a glimpse of a spirit to a flare of inhuman eyes. But he'd been going over it for hours and so far he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Aside from, you know, the skinny teenager taking a bat to his father's head.

There was something he was missing, he knew it. He could feel it. But his eyes were swimming at this point.

He considered the facts: This weak, scared, push-over of a kid goes Mark McGwire on his own dad, then walks calmly to school in his blood-covered khakis and kills some other kid just the same. Then he drops the bat right there, and meanders cool as a cucumber to his homeroom. When a teacher called it in, the kid went willingly with the cops. They said he was almost too relaxed, probably high.

But what kind of high made you mellow and homicidal simultaneously?

Certainly nothing the doctors could find, Sam had already checked on that.

Dean shook his head. This case was weird. Granted, every case was weird. But they'd been here all day and still didn't have a clue what they were dealing with. He needed to get some distance from it, think objectively. Maybe he should think about something else for a little while...

Castiel was watching a program whose plot did not overly entice him. It was a show about doctors, who all seemed to possess a measurable amount of physical attractiveness and seemed very quick to emote. He had been ready to switch to something else, but Dean had given the screen a chuckle when he passed by on his way to the bathroom earlier. His eyes glinted with amusement and, Castiel thought, recognition. It was something he knew. This made Castiel curious of course and he'd been watching the program, a _marathon_ Dean called it, ever since.

He couldn't claim to be giving it his entire attention though. Whenever he felt he could do it without Dean noticing, Castiel would watch Dean instead - he was studying the laptop screen with the utmost concentration, his brow furrowing and shoulders tensing as the hours drew on. He let out a huff, and Castiel turned his eyes back to the TV before Dean could notice he was watching.

He saw pretty, waifish thing with her dirty blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail walk quietly up behind a man, handsome in his own right Castiel supposed, who looked absolutely exhausted. The man was leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and some paperwork in his hands. He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

Castiel looked across the room at Dean, leaning forward, his elbows against the table as he scrutinized the computer. He ran a hand over his tired eyes and then through his hair.

Castiel's eyes went curiously back to the television. The man tossed the papers onto the table and leaned back into the couch with a heavy sigh. The woman leaned from behind him, looping her arms around his neck. The man smiled at the contact.

Castiel's head tilted. He glanced over at Dean, seeing him push the computer away slightly before leaning back against the chair, with a sigh.

Something in Castiel's stomach twisted with nerves. On the Tv the woman rubbed her hands slowly up and down the man's chest, kneading up at his shoulders. The man closed his eyes and made a contented sound.

Castiel swallowed hard. He looked at Dean rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck, as if trying to get that same effect.

On the television the man said quietly, "You always know how to make me feel better."

Castiel was standing before he could talk himself out of it, walking over to the table with knots in his gut that nearly made him turn back. Surely he could comfort his charge without it being inappropriate in the eye's of Heaven...

Dean looked up as Castiel came near and the angel could feel his eyes on him, but neither said anything as the he moved silently behind the hunter.

Dean was frozen, glancing slightly over his shoulder at Castiel. Something about the moment made it impossible for him to speak - he didn't dare ask him what he was doing. Not even as he felt the angel's hands come to rest against the tops of his shoulders. He tensed even further, his breath barely coming, his heart pounding in his chest.

Castiel slid his hands down from Dean's shoulders to his chest, where he could feel the minuscule stretching and contracting of his body at every breath, and the constant thump of his heart. Dean was warm through the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt and though the texture was pleasant, Castiel couldn't help the dark thought that he wished he knew the feel of Dean's chest against his hands without it. He blushed at the thought.

Castiel remembered the woman from the tv, how she'd gone about this, and he rubbed his hands across Dean's chest, not just exploring the expanse and its contours (though secretly he was), but with purpose. He added pressure, coming up to Dean's shoulders and kneading out the tension like he'd seen her do.

It took longer for Dean to react than it had for the man in the show, but eventually Castiel could feel Dean relax into his touch - his muscles went a little less rigid, and he let out a soft sigh. Castiel liked the feel of Dean beneath his hands, and of doing this hands-on kind of healing, bringing him this physical peace without it being life or death. He liked when Dean leaned into his touch, urging him to rub harder. And Castiel could barely contain the joy he felt when Dean's head lolled back and he could see that the man's eyes were closed, his lips parted ever so slightly. He never wanted to stop.

Dean leaned his head back, breathing deep and relaxed for the first time in... years, it seemed. It felt so good to have someone's hands on him.

_This isn't just someone. It's **Cas**..._

_Hey, don't ruin this._

This touch was refreshing really. His body had been touched countless times. Sometimes even doted upon by his more giving bedfellows. But he was rarely granted such lavish attention. The touch he experienced was usually aimed at turning him on. The endgame being that Dean would pleasure said bedfellow in return. But this... Cas wasn't doing this because he was a crafty young woman who knew all the tricks and wanted to get Dean revved up. Dean could feel in the way he touched, that Cas was doing this for him. It was affectionate, more than anything. And he relaxed into it despite himself.

He leaned forward slowly, crossing his arms on the table's edge and laying his head upon his forearms. As he'd hoped, Cas followed along and took advantage of the access to more of Dean's back. And Dean just rested and let Cas take care of him.

When Dean leaned forward, something inside Castiel twisted in a way that was both awful and lovely. He shouldn't be looking upon Dean with such objectification, taking detailed, precise notice of the valley of his spine, the angles of his shoulder blades and the smooth curve of his back down to the top of his jeans. He shouldn't rake his eyes over the line of naked skin now visible between the hem of Dean's t-shit and the top of his pants. He _shouldn't_, but he did.

All of his recent tricks, just to get near Dean, paled in comparison to the intensity of this moment for Castiel. He'd never touched someone so much, so freely; he'd never taken such liberties and now he was entranced by it.

And then ignoring every warning in his mind, he made the fatal mistake that let it go too far -

Castiel's hands worked their way slowly down Dean's back, feeling every tightened sinew, every rib and vertebrae. And when he reached that forbidden, uncovered skin he paused momentarily, before rubbing his thumbs lightly over it, into the valley of Dean's spine.

Dean didn't pull away, he breathed deep, stretching his back as if trying to offer more.

Dean felt Castiel's fingers touch his bare skin, and in his utterly defenseless state of relaxation and desire, he arched into the touch. He felt slim, trembling fingers slide so slowly beneath his t-shirt and up his back. Dean instinctively leaned back into the touch until he sat back up. With a sigh he leaned back, and Castiel's hands slipped around to his sides so as not be trapped between Dean and the chair-back he rested against heavily. The angel's fingers skimmed the skin over Dean's ribs with light, tentative touches.

Castiel's hands slid around to Dean's front and up Dean's heated, firm skin, feeling pebbled nubs against his palms. Dean arched subtly into his palms and Castiel slid his hands over the hardened nipples, happy to see Dean's head fall back past the back of the chair and onto Cas' torso. He couldn't believe the alien rush he felt from seeing Dean like this, from having his hands on his bare skin.

Dean couldn't believe he hadn't had a heart attack yet. Or maybe that what this feeling was... He was so comfortable with Cas in this moment, despite the fact that they essentially never touched, and now the guy was swiping his thumbs curiously over his nipples. Dean could feel Cas' gaze on his face.

_This is going too far, Dean. He's an **angel**. Stop it now._

_I've got it under control. It's innocent..._

_You don't even believe that._

_Shut up. I'm handling it._

Castiel had slid his hands back up to the tops of Dean's shoulders, then slid them center, where he cradled the base of Dean's neck in his hands, skin to skin, rubbing his thumbs together up the nape and spine until they brushed into his hair. His fingertips touched as his hands circled around Dean's neck.

If Castiel had added pressure, he'd have been choking the man.

_He's got his hands around your neck, Winchester! Friend or not, you're a goddamn Hunter and he's got you by the throat! Put up some defenses for christ's sake!_

_But..._

_You don't know what he'll do! You can't trust anyone, Dean. You know that._

Dean opened his eyes for the first time since this all started, to see Castiel hovering above him looking dangerously intent, his eyes dark.

But for some reason that Dean couldn't bear to understand at the moment, he wasn't afraid.

The angel was looking at his as if he was counting every freckle, and was increasingly vexed and fascinated by every one. Castiel focused into those green irises, almost eclipsed by dark, and found himself trapped. The two gazed, and the rest of the world was forgotten.

_Fight him Dean!_

_Oh relax._

_Push him away!_

_Dean, just relax... Just a little. It's Cas, man... He won't hurt you. Relax..._

_Yeah... Yeah, maybe. Maybe just a little..._

Dean closed his eyes, despite his instincts, leaning back into Cas a little more. The weight of Cas' hands around his throat was warm and heavy and he breathed out a sigh. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he felt Castiel shift until the warmth of his body was beside him, instead of behind, and one of his thumbs was caressing over Dean's Adam's apple. He felt a warm breath on his lips and he nearly gasped. He leaned up ever so slightly toward that breath, feeling the warmth of Castiel coming close and then -

and then he heard the distinct rumble of a '67 Chevy Impala outside in the parking lot.

And he'd never hated that car so much in his entire life.

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><p><strong>This chapter was going to be entirely different, but I made some drastic last minute changes. I'm totally winging it but like it better now.<strong>

**I just hope it worked and ya liked it! **

**We're going somewhere, I promise. ****More coming soon.**


	6. Human Relations

The Cluster-you-know-what of Human Relations.

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><p><em>Dean, just relax... Just a little. It's Cas, man... He won't hurt you. Relax...<em>

_Yeah... Yeah, maybe. Maybe just a little..._

_Dean closed his eyes, despite his instincts. The weight of Cas' hands around his throat was warm and heavy and he breathed out a sigh. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he felt Castiel shift. He felt a warm breath on his lips and he nearly gasped. He leaned up ever so slightly, feeling the warmth of Castiel coming close and then -_

and then he heard the distinct rumble of a '67 Chevy Impala outside in the parking lot.

And he'd never hated that car so much in his entire life.

Correction - he hated Sam. If Sam were canonized he'd be the Patron Saint of Cockblocking.

Dean felt Castiel go still, and hesitate before sliding his hands away. Which Dean greatly regretted. And when Dean opened his eyes, Cas was gone, and he was left cold and all worked up and instantly embarrassed. Mortified, was probably more accurate.

Now that it was over, it sank in how friggin' weird the last however long they were doing that was... wait how long _were_ they...? He bolted upright, glancing at his watch and trying to stop his heart from exploding from the _WHAT THE FUCK?_ screaming inside his head. However long that out of the blue rub-down was, it was friggin' weird.

Dean took a deep breathe before noticing Cas reappear across the room once more, landing clumsily, looking oddly ruffled and sitting down on the couch as if he'd forgotten how to do so. Dean could see him try to regain his normal composure, but he was struggling, and something deep inside him liked that.

Though he couldn't quite elaborate on why...

_Let's not go there right now._

_Agreed._

Dean heard Sam's key in the door and got up from the chair which he now realized was hard and uncomfortable and kind of debauched. He started literally shaking himself out of it. He took a deep breath and shook his head and arms, and swiped his hands down his own chest and torso, as if trying to wipe the feeling of Cas off of his body. And he told his stupid heart to just calm the Hell down.

Sam entered, dressed in his FBI suit and carrying a bag of take-out. He gave Dean a hello nod and Dean reciprocated as normally as he could, forcefully shoving down the exchange with Castiel that still had his heart pumping.

"Anything new?" he asked, keeping his voice even and light, and heading to the table where Sam had dropped the food.

"_Oh_ yeah," Sam responded, folding his suit jacket on the bed and pulling off his tie.

"Really?" Dean's interest was piqued by Sam's tone.

Sam glanced across the room calling, "Cas, food."

Cas looked over at him and nodded, appearing beside the table before Sam could blink.

"Well what did you learn?" Dean asked.

Sam sat down, straightening out the food in front of him, "I've been at the hospital all day talking to the doctors and nurses who dealt with the Ryerson kid. They all seemed to be holding back on me but I got one nurse to tell me the truth. She was pretty freaked."

"What'd you threaten to shoot her in the kneecaps?" Dean joked, sliding his chair a little closer to Cas' without realizing he'd done so.

Sam realized. He focused instead on the case at hand, "She wasn't scared of _me_, Dean. She's afraid of what's happening around her. It's like the whole town is throwing their every inhibition to the wind and letting their id completely take over."

"Interesting theory, Freud."

"Yeah well, it's worse than that."

"Worse than a town full of Charlie Sheens?"

"The animalistic honesty doesn't stop with them. The nurse said that the Ryerson kid wouldn't shut up the whole time he was there. She went in to take his vitals and he looked her straight in the face and said he was sorry for her that she couldn't have a baby, since he knew how much she wanted to be a mom."

"Wow. Personal. What's he a stalker too?"

"Could be. Except the nurse says nobody knew that but her. She hadn't even told her husband yet. She'd only just found out that week." Sam had both Dean and Cas' full attention now. He continued, "She wasn't the only one he freaked out either. After suggesting the nurse look into adoption, he also told one of the cops guarding him that if he wanted to leave the force and go be a longshoreman then he should just do it. And he told his doctor that if he wanted the drugs in the lock-up so badly, he'd help him break in because he'd always wanted to pick a lock."

"This kid is pretty damn intuitive, huh?" Dean asked, floored by the new intel.

"Yeah, and he's not the only one. The nurse said that a couple of their patients have been unusually _clairvoyant_ in the past week or so. But no one's been talking to the cops because everyone's either embarrassed, or they end up just the same - stoned and a mind-reader and way too honest."

"What the Hell _is_ this?" Dean shook his head in frustration.

Castiel seemed deep in thought as if searching for a way to answer that question.

Sam shook his head indicating he had no clue. "For whatever reason, the victims affected are tuned into the true desires of the people around them. And what's better, they're not just tuned in, they feel the need to force these other people to acknowledge it and give in just like them. And a lot of 'em are."

"So, we got a town full of people who can see through each other's bullshit and want to Vegas-out on us. We we don't know how to stop it. And we don't know what's causing it. Ever think maybe they're just tired of being civilized?"

"Dean," Sam chastised, shooting him a patented_ be serious_ look.

"No, no, listen - society puts all kinds of constraints on people. What if these people can't hack the stress of being the _Cleavers_ anymore and just decide to do what they want instead?"

"So you're a sociologist now?"

"Shut up. I'm just saying, living that cookie-cutter life... it's more restraining than you think. You have to think about every thing you do. Be normal, whatever _that_ is. It's friggin' exhausting. Maybe whatever this is, is feeding off that."

Sam noticed Cas give him a wondering gaze, but pretended he didn't see it. Instead he looked at Dean curiously, "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing, that's just... very astute. Kind of... deep."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"But I think you might be right," Sam stated. "Until we can find out what this thing is getting out of all this, we're screwed."

"Time to call Bobby," Dean suggested. And he got up from the table to do that, meeting Cas' eyes for a split-second before turning his back on him, his heart fluttering just from that glance.

Fifteen minutes later, "Time to hit the books," Bobby suggested.

Sam cracked open his laptop, hoping Bobby would call back soon with an answer. There was all kinds of new tension with Dean and Cas and he couldn't wait for something else to do. He needed them to find a lead so he could get out of there.

* * *

><p>Bobby hadn't called, not all night. And now Sam had to get out of the motel before he committed homicide.<p>

Dean and Cas were skirting each other like they were doing some sort of bizarre music-less tango. They were like two male lions circling before an epic throw-down. When one looked away, the other stole the opportunity to gaze, unnoticed.

Or so they thought.

Sam noticed. He noticed everything - the staring, the attempts at being close to each other without ever being quite close enough, the way they were being _nice_ to each other. Dean was keeping his disparaging quips to himself and Castiel hadn't made a single observational comment about how Sam and Dean were somehow less capable due to their measly mortal aptitude. Instead they were being nothing but _nice_. Polite even.

It was making Sam want to hurl.

It had been that way for days now, almost a week. A week of _Thanks Cas_, and _You're very observant Dean_, and _Hey, wanna watch TV or something?_ and_ I don't understand the purpose of..._ and _Don't worry man, I'll explain it to you._

And Sam's personal favorite, _Hey, quit leaving me alone with him Sam, I'm not his damn babysitter._

He wanted to grab his brother and smack him in the face with the _"I know you're a big old Cas-loving homo! so give it up and quit being a dick!"_ truth.

But he held it in...

He should be canonized for this crap. Maybe he could be the Patron Saint of Unbelievable Patience.

Probably not - Sam was ready to combust.

He'd never wanted to walk in on his brother doing the nasty with anyone, let alone another dude, especially a dude Sam would have to look in the eye later, but every time he was on his way back to the motel he found himself praying he'd open the door and they'd be all over each other. Because the sexual tension and the painfully obvious chemistry between them was practically palpable, and to a point that Sam literally didn't comprehend how nothing had happened yet.

They had him on the edge of his seat with anticipation from the second Cas had agreed to stay. He was sure it would be a matter of hours if not minutes... but nope. The denial was still holding strong. It was incredible really.

And every time they touched or they smiled at each other Sam was ready to take his cue and flee the scene to leave them alone. But they always shut the moment down as fast as they could.

By the next morning, Sam was so frustrated at their refusal to just let it be, that watching Cas watch Dean brush his teeth and dance to Free's _Alright Now_ on the radio as if the spectacle of Dean in his natural habitat was the most fascinating thing that he'd ever in his thousands of years of existence had the pleasure to witness, Sam just finally snapped.

He grabbed his laptop, jacket and messenger bag full of loose-leaf research and stormed out with a loud and overly abrasive, "Going somewhere I can _concentrate_. To, you know, _solve the case_. I'll be back whenever I feel like it - not that you'll miss me!"

Dean and Cas watched the door slam behind him and Cas looked to Dean for an explanation. Dean shrugged and started playing air guitar to the radio, toothbrush still hanging in his mouth.

Castiel's head tilted to the side as he took in the sight of such odd behavior.

Dean was happy, or content at least, seemingly for no reason. And he hadn't mentioned the line they'd crossed yesterday, which was just as well for Castiel because every time he thought about it, which was every time he thought at all, he found himself at a complete loss for words. Despite the general fluttering nervousness he had around Dean now, he still couldn't wait for them to be alone. He found he didn't mind at all that Sam appeared to be frustrated. It afforded him more time to study Dean and figure out what exactly it was he felt for the man. He observed Dean's absentminded attempt to sing and brush his teeth simultaneously.

Castiel could almost laugh... which would be bizarre in and of itself. Cas realized that he was happy... just to be with him. Even amidst such absurdity.

The absurdity was, of course, one of Dean's oldest tricks. He could always cover his vulnerability with a joke. It was his go-to.

When Castiel was around, there was a lot of joking.

* * *

><p>Sam stormed down the street, throwing his bag over his shoulder and shaking his head. Those two were impossible. <em>Impossible!<em> Now he knew why Dean had been acting like such an erratic asshat for the past months. This _whatever_ he had with Castiel was an all-consuming emotional clusterfuck. How they'd been putting up with this without snapping for so long, _years_ now, Sam had no idea. Apparently Dean and Cas were the Olympic Heavyweight Champions of denial. Well, Sam wasn't that kind of guy. He liked to get it all out there so it could be dealt with properly and they could make the most out of whatever situation they were in.

He considered himself fairly well-adjusted... considering. Anyway, he was better adjusted that Dean at least. Not that that was saying much.

It would take a lifetime of study to establish why these two _idiots_ would go to such _idiotic_ lengths to stay apart even though it was so obvious that they should be together. They needed each other, and it hadn't been just for the job in a long time. Even with all the water under the bridge, they were still connected more deeply than Sam could stomach sometimes. And watching them, two people who knew distinctly well what it was to be lonely, _not_ take the chance, throw it away, was unmeasurably frustrating.

And Sam had no intention of putting up with it for much longer. He'd been avoiding talking to Dean about it out-right, knowing how is brother would react... but come on! He was trying to stay on the periphery but this was getting ridiculous.

Dean and Cas were running out of time for closeted affection and subtlety. That was for damn sure.

* * *

><p><strong>Remember when I said this was going to be short and sweet...? <strong>

**Does it count as a lie if you didn't know at the time that it was completely untrue? Nah, I don't think so.**


	7. Personal Issues and Aftershocks

**Sorry for the wait! Thanks so much for the reviews - you guys are the jam in my jelly roll.**

* * *

><p>Personal Trouble.<p>

Sam found himself at the local diner; most diners had the same sort of feel, the same bustle about them, and Sam had grown up in them more than he'd grown up in any one home or motel, so he always found himself at ease at a vinyl-seated diner booth.

His frustration had waned slightly on the walk there and it didn't take long for him to settle into less riotous thoughts of the predicament that was Dean and Cas, as well as the case at hand. It took almost no time at all after that, when he'd settled into his booth, sliding the sugar, napkin-holder and ketchup to the edge of the table that was against the wall, and opened his laptop open in front of him, to notice the waitress behind the bar.

She was pretty in a _she could be your best friend **and** your lover_ kind of way, utterly approachable despite how pretty she was. She had an easy smile and seemed to move around the cramped space behind the bar as if she had every inch of the place memorized and being one of only two waitresses around during a busy lunch hour was old hat. Sam noticed with a smirk that she had a few forgotten pens stuck in her ponytail and flour on her little black waist-apron.

Honestly, she was kind of a mess. But in a cute way. Sam already liked her.

So when the other waitress came walked into his line of sight and gruffly took his order, giving him the _I know what you're thinking, forget about it tiger_ look, he couldn't help but be disappointed.

Several hours and a Greek omelette with homefries later Sam was leaning back against the booth with a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. This case was exhausting him. He wasn't suffering from a lack of leads, but from an overabundance. Being that it was such a small town, there was cross-over everywhere. There was no one obvious link. Everyone knew everyone and their lives overlapped in thousands of ways.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes, hoping his mind would be able to untangle some of these webs of connection if he just relaxed.

He was just beginning to feel his mind go calm when a female voice interrupted.

"So..."

Sam's eyes shot open to see the pretty waitress standing right in front of him. He bolted up straight and running a hand through his hair.

She crossed her arms, smiling at him, "What're you looking for?"

He composed himself as quickly as he could manage. "What makes you think I'm looking for something?"

_Smooth recovery, Sam. Nicely done._

The waitress smiled at him, "This isn't the kind of town you blow in to without a good reason. And you're not related to anyone _I_ know, so it must be something else. There's no work here, and you don't seem to be looking. But you've got a table full of maps and highlighted google-searches, so..."

Sam was speechless as the waitress looked down at him with a satisfied smirk.

"Tell me what you're looking for. Maybe I can help you find it."

"Um..." he laughed awkwardly, "it's nothing really. I work for a uh, local newspaper, and I came down here to check out the weird stuff that's been happening in this town."

"Ahhh. Yeah, I was wondering when the UFO freaks and amateur hippies were gonna start rolling in."

He laughed again. "Yeah. So, you know anything about it?"

"Well let's see," she said, sliding into the seat across from him. "Few weeks ago Randy Gunning starts talking all this nonsense about how he never wanted to be a mechanic, only kept the business for his dad. Apparently he wanted to be a photographer. That in itself isn't that strange I guess... it was just..."

"What?" Sam leaned forward, waiting for what came next.

"Well he wouldn't shut up about it. He kept telling us, over and _over_. About all his thoughts and dreams and regrets. It's strange. He's kind of a man of few words you know? Keeps things bottled. Or at least he _did_. Now people keep seeing him out and about town with an old Polaroid, snapping pictures of this and that. Wasn't long before we started thinking his new artistic side was bringing out a certain medicinal liberality..."

Sam laughed at her choice of words and she smiled warmly at him.

_She's smart. She's pretty when she smiles..._

_Crap - don't get distracted, keep listening._

"Ever since then Randy's been wandering around, stupid goofy grin plastered on his face like..."

"Like he's stoned?" Sam offered without the polite beating around the bush.

The waitress seemed to appreciate it, "High as a damn kite." She shook her head, smiling slightly at the thought. "Not much changes around here, so it was the topic of many a speculative conversation. But then, Marcy Camp got up in the middle of church and yelled at the top of her lungs, with a smile on her face, that she didn't believe any of that _horseshit_. Her word, not mine. And she called out a few of her fellow parishoners too. Before wandering out into town center and laying in the grass happy as a pig in shit. Then Larry Thomas kisses Dawn Kenna and Dawn Kenna admits she loves him and they have been holed-up in his apartment ever since... It's been a lot of sudden free-spiritedness."

Sam nodded, "That is kind of strange."

She shook her head a little, like she couldn't really believe it herself. "Don't get me wrong, for the most part I'm enjoying this town loosening up some of its buttons. But poor Bryce Ryerson..." She paused, looking deep in thought. She seemed genuinely sad. "They said he was the same way. Like he drank the same dopey coolade or something."

"Poor Bryce?" Sam questioned, "He killed two people. He murdered his own father didn't he?"

"_Oh_ yeah," she conceded, certain of it, "but he had it coming."

"How so?"

"Bryce was a sweet kid. Troubled, though. And his father didn't help any by beating the crap out of him daily. It was only a matter of time before the cops had a body to haul away. I'm just surprised it wasn't Bryce's."

"And the kid at school - a bully, right?"

She nodded. "You're quick."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"Think someone's burning a poppy field the next town over or something?"

He laughed. _God, she's so - _

_Dude. Stop. Pay attention_.

"Maybe," he offered with a shrug. "Maybe it's in the water."

"I'd stick to cola and coffee then," she suggested. He nodded as if to say _will do_. "So," she started carefully, "you came in here in quite a tizzy. What was that about?"

Sam's cheeks flushed at the thought that A, she'd noticed him, and B, he'd been in any kind of _tizzy_ in front of her. "W- what? I don't _tizzy_."

"Ok, fine. But you stormed in like a kicked hornets nest. So what's got you all riled up?"

"Oh... nothin' -"

"Come on, tell me. Who am I gonna tell?"

She smirked at him and it left him entirely debilitated. Before he even knew what was coming out of his mouth he admitted, "My brother is making me crazy." And God did it feel like a load off to say it out loud.

"Ah," she said with an air of understanding. "Sibling rivalry?"

"Not quite." She looked at him expectantly and Sam couldn't help it, "he's got this... _friend_. And this... _friend_ has always been there for him. Even when he had no one else, and the stakes were high, and even when he was being a real jackass. And now I think... I think my brother is in love with-" he stopped himself short of giving too much information, namely the gender of Dean's friend, away.

The waitress nodded. "So he's in love with his best friend. What's the frustrating part? You're not in love with this friend too, are you?"

"No, no!" Sam corrected a little too enthusiastically. The waitress' head ducked bashfully as she smiled, and Sam laughed awkwardly. He explained, "My brother, he's... stubborn. He won't admit how he feels. And our friend is... well... I guess you could say shy. More like socially awkward. Even that's not really hitting the nail on the head..." Sam squinted down at the tabletop trying to think of an accurate way to describe Castiel.

His words utterly failed him. Cas was a great big, superpower wielding contradiction.

The waitress interrupted his internal struggle, "Ah, so they're totally in love and they're thinking about throwing each other against the bed and getting down and dirty once and for all, and anyone who's ever met them can see it, but neither will make the first move."

"Exactly." There was a definite appreciation to his voice.

She nodded, then decided concisely, "Sounds annoying."

"_Thank_ you," Sam all but sighed in relief at the understanding. "It is. _Very_ annoying."

She laughed a little at his sheer relief. And for a moment, their eyes just sort of lingered. Hers were a soft, light brown that shined with a certain freedom, openness, and Sam found it way too easy to get lost in them.

They both seemed to break at the same moment, laughing awkwardly and looking away. "So uh," she cleared her throat, obviously trying to cover the stilted moment, "you're trying to get them together?"

"Yeah," he quirked his head at her, "how'd you know?"

"You're way too invested." Sam shrugged, he guessed that was true. But his cheeks blushed a little, and he wasn't sure why.

As if to try and keep Sam from feeling embarrassed, the waitress offered, "It's cute."

Sam looked up, kind of surprised.

"I mean, it's nice of you. To try and make them happy."

"I guess. I can't say it's all altruistic though. They're making me crazy. I'm just ready for the tension to break."

She smiled at him like she didn't really believe that.

"Order up!" a very irritated short order cook yelled from across the restaurant.

The waitress rolled her eyes. "Gotta go," she shot Sam one more heart-melting smile and headed off.

Sam felt vindicated for his frustration, and a lot relieved to have been able to vent even vaguely out loud. But also, he felt something he hadn't felt for awhile... It had been a long time since Sam had really liked a girl. Especially a sweet, seemingly normal girl. Something about her had him already intrigued.

He wasn't so eager to finish the case and roll out of town anymore.

* * *

><p>Aftershocks.<p>

The car ride over to the Ryerson house was more than a little tense for Dean. Although, when he snuck a glance over at Cas it seemed the Angel was calm and collected and not at all effected by the nearly demobilizing tension Dean felt pressing down on every inch of him.

After their... _incident_ last night, Dean was feeling more than a little exposed. He'd tried, in vein, to convince himself it was just a friendly neck-rub. _What's a little massage between friends?_

_Yeah right._

If it had been completely platonic Dean wouldn't have been praying for Cas' hands to go lower. He wouldn't have tipped his head back and left himself entirely exposed and parted his lips in ridiculous, embarrassing invitation.

It wouldn't still be making his heart jump every time he remembered Cas' shy hands sliding up his back beneath his shirt. He'd let that happen. He'd encouraged it, hadn't he?

_It was a moment of insanity. Just stop thinking about it. Don't let it knock you off your game._

He'd been telling himself this and mantras similar all morning, but it didn't help. Because Cas' eyes were on him.

Non stop.

Even more non stop than usual.

Castiel had been watching him all day with a renewed kind of fascination and even less bother to hide his observation. Usually Cas was at least trying to be subtle, even if he did fail miserably. But now, Dean could feel those blue eyes burning into him. And it made his skin hot, like the trails of where Cas' hands had touched his skin were lit up from the Angel's gaze. It made him tingle and itch for _something_ until he couldn't sit still.

And the part of him that wanted it -

No, that's not right. _All_ of him wanted it. Part of him just couldn't admit it. And _that_ part was barely making a blip compared the riotous feeling Dean wouldn't dare call _love_ screaming underneath his skin.

_Lust, maybe? Yeah, I can deal with that. It's been a long time since I got any... I'm just projecting._

_Really? You're "projecting" that you want Cas' man-body against you, that you want to feel him against your thigh all hard and -_

_Woah! Ok, stop. Just... maybe it is lust but it's not... it's not... It's not _that_._

_You can't even say the word. How fucked up are we?_

He shook his head a little, silencing the inner-struggle, his eyes darting over to the Angel as if worried that he'd heard.

Dean had never spent so much time with Cas in one long, relentless stretch. It was difficult. The guy was break-the-scales kind of intense and it was disorienting at times. He never thought it would be so hard not to tell the truth. And he still got overwhelmed and stupid in front of him sometimes, like the mere presence of the Angel would throw him completely off his game.

He tried to cover it. But after last night... Dean was struggling. He woke up this morning deciding to be the happy-go-lucky version of himself. It was working for awhile. Until Dean had succeeded in being too happy and the stupid Angel smiled at him. A rare, full, _I'm legitimately enjoying myself_ smile from the Angel whose lips barely twitched at the funniest of jokes.

And at the sight of Castiel's smile Dean's whole chest flooded with warmth, his heart fluttered and he went entirely mutely stupid for a moment.

His whole mood changed after that - Cas looking happy was gorgeous and entrancing and it made him stare at the Angel like a vapid idiot which made him even more embarrassed. So he thought, _let's try a more subdued approach, tired-Dean_. But it took more energy than he expected to pretend to be exhausted, and of course the Angel tilted his head and watched Dean carefully, as if trying to figure out what had happened to ruin the good mood. So Dean got frustrated and switched to moody, sniping, all-business Dean just to handle it.

He could still feel Cas studying him, and it touched him down to his core.

No matter what version of himself he was, Cas seemed equally interested.

Which was frustrating because if Cas was watching him, he couldn't watch Cas. Not without acknowledging what he was doing.

His mind drifted to the idea of letting his eyes rest on the Angel, Cas knowing _exactly_ what he was doing and why when Dean watched him with awe and affection, tracing the planes of his pale face, his blue eyes, his lips... It gave Dean a strange feeling in his stomach - not a bad one. But one he didn't recognize. Curious, he pushed his mind to continue imagining this hypothetical situation, where Cas would be entirely aware of the nature of Dean's gaze...

Dean imagined Cas not being freaked out by it. He imagined him sitting silently, facing forward, only the hint of smile on his lips to tell Dean that Cas knew exactly what was happening. Dean imagined Cas would indulge him. Dean imagined Cas would like it when he reached over and brushed his thumb against his lips, and maybe Cas would even press those lips to the pad of Dean's finger in a natural response. Maybe... maybe Cas would smile at him, and it would reach his eyes like it had earlier...

A loud and abrasive car-horn snapped Dean out of his reverie just in time to realize two things - he was still driving, and he was blatantly staring at Cas' lips.

And Cas was staring back at him.

Dean's heart thudded with the adrenaline of nearly causing a head-on collision. And maybe because of something else.

He kept his eyes on the road after that.

* * *

><p>Dean pulled the Impala to the curb on the Ryerson's street, stalking toward the house on a misison. Cas trailed behind silently. Dean looked over his shoulder suspiciously before starting to pick the lock on the front door. He smiled at himself when he heard that satisfying click but turned to see Castiel tilting his head at a nearly dilapidated garden lattice resting against the front of the house.<p>

"What?" Dean asked, knowing that look.

"It's strange..." he reached out to touch the lattice, holding a piece of leaf between his fingers, "this Ivy usually only grown in Greece."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I guess if the Angel thing doesn't work out you could always be a landscaper."

Castiel ignored him. "It's familiar... I can't remember..."

Dean left him to his thoughts, heading into the house and finding that on the surface everything was normal. But upon closer examination, there was something kind of off about the place. The kid, Bryce's room was too tidy to be lived in by a teenager of any discipline. There was nothing remotely personal about it. It was a cell, more than a room. A cell with a desk and a nice twin mattress and a pleasant coat of paint, but a cell none the less. Either the kid had no personality, or he was afraid to show it.

Meanwhile the dad's room was an unholy mess. Dean noted, with a jaw clenching sigh, that one of the father's belts was hanging over the back of a chair, dark reddish-brown stain marking the leather.

A terrified kid, and a dad's bloody belt.

Didn't take a genius to put it together.

Castiel sensed Dean's mood darken, "What does it mean?"

"Means the Dad had it comin'."

Castiel examined the belt and put two and two together. He couldn't say he disagreed.

Cas followed quietly as Dean scoured the house, looking for clues. The only thing he found was a receipt for the Grapevine Diner in the teenager's desk with somebody's phone number on it. He snagged it and declared with a huff that it was time to go.

When they got back outside they were met with a ruckus across the street. A woman in a bathrobe was bellowing at the top of her lungs at a man, who was cowering inside of a car. The woman had a shotgun cocked at the car, and appeared to be waving the cars keys up in the air, brandishing them, mocking her husband. She tossed them easily into a sewer grate with a smile.

The husband could hide in there if he wanted, but he wasn't going anywhere.

A few neighborhood bystanders were watching the domestic drama unfold. Dean ran up to the small group, some trying to dissuade the woman from killing her husband and trying to convince her to put the gun down. Dean approached a level-headed looking black man in his pyjamas and bathrobe, flashing his false police credentials and asking him what the Hell was going on.

"Evelyn Park," the man informed Dean, motioning toward the enraged housewife. "I was getting the mail, heard her screaming, came to check it out. She's got her husband trapped in the car. Talking about shooting him in the goods for cheating on her."

"Yikes..." Dean pitied the sleezbag.

"I think she's on something," the man offered.

"Why do you say that?"

"She looks like the others - you know, the other sick ones. She's kind of... drunk or something."

"Great..." Dean muttered, pulling his gun to the ready as he approached the woman with caution. "Ma'am?"

She turned at the sound of his voice, pulling the shotgun around with her like she'd forgotten it was there. Dean cocked his handgun, just in case. A shot rang out and Dean hit the deck. He checked himself, thankfully not hit and looked back up to the woman who seemed just as shocked.

"Woops..." she smiled at him. "Glad I missed ya."

"**_Woops_**?" he yelled back at her. "Lady, you almost shot me!"

"Who are you?" she asked calmly.

"Agent Howe*, FBI. Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to put the shotgun down."

"Nah, not yet."

She was way too relaxed with that response, and as she turned back toward the car, Dean was kind of at a loss. He had a gun aimed directly at her, and it didn't seem to phase her one bit. "Uh...Ma'am-"

"Please, call me Evelyn. Ma'am makes me sound so old. And you know, I'm not that old. I don't _feel_ old. I don't think I look that old... But this jackass!" She cocked the gun at her husband who cowered in fear, ducking out of sight. "You slept with that sorority _skank_! And I only let it go to keep up appearances!... Well not anymore buddy! I _never_ forgave you! I've always hated you for that! You and your little pointer there!"

Dean's face jolted into an expression of surprise and maybe distaste. Cas simply tilted his head, watching the situation unfold. A few of the bystanders snickered despite themselves.

"Evie please!" the man's muffled voice came from inside the car, "I'm sorry!"

"Bullshit!" She pumped the shotgun and cocked it, aiming at the door the man was cowering behind. Dean sprang into action - he tackled poor Evelyn to the blacktop and knocked away the gun. Evelyn watched the gun scrape away across the ground and gave a heavy, disappointed sigh.

"I would really have liked to shoot him in the junk."

Dean was still reeling from that last statement when the actual cops rolled up, hurrying over to Evelyn and handcuffing her, hoisting her up and towards the cruiser.

Dean brushed himself off half noticing out of the corner of his eye that Cas wandered toward Evelyn's house. One of the cops approached him. With Evie safely locked away in the cruiser, the other cop set to work trying convince the husband to come out of the car. Dean shook his head, almost smiling at crazy-ass Evelyn. As the cop walked up, Dean flashed his fake badge, demanding to speak to Evelyn before they took her away.

The cop opened the car door, not at all concerned that she might try to run, and left Dean to interrogate Evelyn.

"Hello," she smiled at Dean.

"Sorry for the tackle," Dean started. "Can't say I blame you for wanting to maim the guy. But... a shotgun? A little harsh."

"In retrospect... maybe..." she gazed up at the sky, thinking. Dean watched her, his eyebrows raised warily. Then she looked back at him suddenly, "Don't worry about the tackle. I was the only girl on the junior varsity football team when I was twelve. Of course, they cut me as soon as I got boobs..."

"Oh. Right... That must've been..." he cleared his throat. "So, Evelyn..."

"Yes cutie?" she smiled up at him.

"You experienced anything particularly strange lately? Anything maybe, right before you went batshit on your husband."

"Hmm..." she closed her eyes, thinking hard, then excitedly responded, "Nope!"

She smiled up at him and he tried not to let his irritation show. "Where have you been in the last 24 hours?"

"Home. And... to the mailbox... and then back home..."

Dean rolled his eyes, losing patience.

"And Grapevine. But mostly home."

"Did you say Grapevine? The diner?"

She nodded. "If you haven't been yet, go order the Eggs Benedict. I should have gotten them more often - fattening though, you know? but so good. Who cares anymore - I'm gonna have them every time from now on!"

"That sounds like a plan. You enjoy that." Having found his solid lead, Dean went to close the door but was stopped when Evelyn put a hand out calling, "Oh and dear!"

Dean looked back down at the dopey-faced woman. "Yes?"

"Congratulations!"

He cocked his head to the side, "For?"

"Well, duh. You're in love aren't you? You should yell it from rooftops... Love songs always talk about stuff like that. My husband, rat bastard, he never did any of that for me. And I never felt like doing it for him. But you're _really_ in love. So you should do it. That'd be so romantic-"

"Excuse me, excuse me," he interrupted, flustered. She stared up at him with big eyes and he informed her, "I, am _not_, in love."

Evelyn shot him an almost maternally disapproving look that shut him right up. "Now Dean," he balked at the mention of his real name, which he had, as always, left out. "Don't deny it. It's obvious. You have to _embrace_ it. You have to. Be true to yourself, live it up, you'll feel so much better."

Dean stared at her, slack-jawed, before closing the door on her, turning on his heel and walking very quickly away.

Out of instinct he headed toward Cas.

Hearing Dean walk up behind him and knowing it was him, Castiel didn't bother to turn around when he spoke to Dean, "You learned something useful from her I hope."

Dean stopped dead, his heart dropped, "W-what...?"

"Was the woman able to give you any leads?" Cas clarified, his focus still very much aimed at the side of the house, and not at Dean.

Dean shook his head, clearing his mind. "Uh, yeah," he pulled Bryce Ryerson's receipt out of his pocket, "Grapevine."

Castiel turned to look at him.

"It's a diner in town. The kid was there, and so was Evelyn. It a connection at least." Cas nodded and turned back to what he was studying. Dean stepped forward to stand beside him, "What are you scrutinizing over here? Trying to set the house on fire with your eyes superman?"

Castiel ignored Dean's strange attempt at wit and simply waited for Dean's gaze to follow his.

Ate the base of the house's foundation was a weedy green patch of Ivy that had sneakily climbed up the siding.

"Huh. More of that. You said it's unusual. Maybe it's connected to whatever's going on here."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, "I don't remember where I saw it."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Helpful..."

Castiel shot him a hard look.

* * *

><p>When Sam returned to the motel he was still smiling. Dean caught the grin, "I hope your day was better than mine."<p>

Sam tried to get his smile in check. "Alright. Mildly informative."

"Where ya been?"

"Diner."

Dean's ears all but perked up, "Grapevine?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Not feeling overly honest or cracked out are you? Cause that place is the only lead I have right now."

"Uh no. And if all you have is that they both went to the diner then we're still screwed. It's a tiny town, Dean. Everyone's been to that diner in the past two weeks."

Dean soured at the obliteration of his one lead. "Anything weird there?"

"Nah."

"You sure? I mean, you were there _all_ day? Whatta they have the best toast this side of the Mississippi? I did hear the eggs benedict was good. Or maybe, they've got the hottest waitresses." Dean joked, his laughter cutting short when first he catches the disapproving eye roll of the Angel, and then when he glances over to Sam and sees him out-right blushing.

"_Ohhh_," Dean smirked, not having had an opportunity for a good _Sammy likes a girl!_ teasing in a long time. "So it's the waitresses," he laughed as his little brother rolled his eyes and pretended so unconvincingly that he had no idea what Dean was talking about. "Tell us Sammy, what were _you_ doing all day while we were out getting shot?"

"Neither of us was shot," Castiel offered plainly, thinking it was definitely right to diffuse any needless worry for Sam.

The brothers ignored him. Dean continued, "Getting a little afternoon delight?"

"Dude," Sam tried to brush it off, "what're you talking about?"

"Come on Sam, tell the truth... You at least gave her a good tip after, right?"

"Hey!" his anger was protective and offended.

It was exactly what Dean was hoping for.

Dean smacked his hands together once in victory. He knew a jibe like that would force Sam to show his true colors, and Dean could tell by the way Sam got so irritated and flushed that he did, indeed, have a crush.

"Sam's got a crush on the Diner Girl!" Dean announced, thoroughly pleased.

And Cas smiled to see Dean smile, which caused Dean to turn away with a blush of his own.

Sam smirked in retaliation.

* * *

><p>(*Brian Howe of Bad Company. yes, I just made a reference glossary at the bottom of the page like this is an English Lit. class.)<p>

**I hope there weren't too many spelling errors. I kind of rushed to get this chapter up. So excuse any mistakes or unedited craziness!**

**I finally amended the description of the story as well, as per request. I've come to terms with this being a whole story. Seven chapters into it...**


	8. Subconscious Inclinations

**_(Using Jedi mind tricks)_ You will ignore any spelling and grammatical errors...**

* * *

><p>Subconscious Inclinations.<p>

Early morning, before either of the boys woke, always stirred a contemplative mood in Castiel. He always did like thinking things over in the dawn sun, it made everything seem... withstandable. With the start of a new Earthly day Castiel was reminded that there was a whole lot out there in this world that his Father made, it was much bigger than his problems. Sometimes it was easy to get sidetracked, to be short-sighted.

When he was here with the Winchesters, they were the whole world.

For an Angel, such focus, such personal involvement, could be disorienting, claustrophobic in a way.

Castiel glanced over at Dean, sleeping with one flimsy sheet tangled over him and his hand resting on his chest, his face so passive. He never looked so calm when he was awake.

Castiel's eyes meandered over to Sam, laying on his stomach, facing away from he and Dean, sleeping diagonally in the bed he was nearly too tall for, one arm hanging off the mattress, knuckles tickling the cheap carpet.

Castiel felt a tweak of affection in his chest which he knew all too well was dangerous, being that he was a warrior of Heaven, but which he had long since resigned to. Especially on mornings like this. Seeing the brothers in such a vulnerable state, he felt that deep pull of duty to watch over them. He felt protective. He had never been so secretly pleased to be considered someone's Guardian Angel.

There was a time, only a few years ago, he would have balked at the idea. He may even have felt the need to punish such an accusation. But now, in the early dawn light, in a motel room in the middle of nowhere, Castiel was glad for his role, however demeaning to his _true purpose_, in these young men's lives.

His eyes went back to Sam, sensing that the younger man would soon stir.

Sam usually woke first these days, and Cas enjoyed the comfortably platonic, stress-free interactions of their shared morning. He had always liked Sam, abomination or not. He had a good soul, you could see that easily. He'd hid it under a bushel for awhile, but Castiel never doubted him; he never thought Sam's soul was forever blackened or destroyed.

They had developed an easy kind of comradery, devoid of all of the tension, and stress, and weight of unsaid things that hung between he and Dean. Their relationship was thankfully simple.

In the wake of the past few days' developments with Dean, Castiel was glad when Sam departed for his morning run, leaving Castiel alone to think. Or at least, mostly alone. Dean was still unconscious on his bed, muttering occasionally from what Castiel imagined was some fitful dream. He had them often.

How Castiel wished to know what that dream was.

Spending every morning being able to feel by the raise of the hairs on the back of his neck that his charge was dreaming, and not taking the second-nature liberty of looking into his mind, out of respect for Dean, was making Castiel very anxious.

Most angels did not concern themselves with boundaries of respect when it came to humans, _especially_ their charge. The mortals were an open book. That was how it was supposed to be. In Heaven's eyes there were to be no boundaries between Angel and charge, whether the human disliked the invasion of privacy or not. No angel would stop his curiosity, or to put it more diplomatically, his _inclination_, because the human had asked them not to.

But Castiel wasn't the average angel. That much was obvious - now more than ever.

He didn't just lust for Dean, he pined for him. Worse in the eyes of his brethren, he respected him.

But he desired in the worst way to see the unhidden psyche of this man that so baffled and excited him. It was only natural for someone of Castiel's kind to want that, to want to watch, it was something they all did. Second nature. He wanted to see for himself what Dean dreamt. And more than anything, he wanted to be sure that he didn't suffer through nightmares.

Castiel gave a heavy sigh, glancing over at the man who's brow was now slightly furrowed in sleep. Castiel had never spent so much time with any one human.

In some ways it was unrelentingly frustrating.

He was starting to wish he had heeded his own warnings about Dean, and about going too far. He'd warned himself he would only be tempted to want more. He was right.

He had touched the righteous man's skin, intimately, with borrowed fingertips and it was all he could do to keep from touching him again. He'd opened up to something deep and feral inside himself and now he was worried there would come an inevitable surge, as if it would flood him and take him over.

Touching Dean, seeing his eyes fall closed, feeling the warm buzz inside the man and feeling it transfer through Castiel's hands... He was easily addicted. Now every time he looked at Dean there was a physically desirous context to the way he saw the man's body. To touch him had been a fantasy come to life for Castiel, one he didn't dare admit to before then.

He wished only that the moment had held the same significance for Dean.

As far as Castiel could tell, the touch was purely utilitarian for him. Not so much _romantic_ as a human might say, but an unspectacular near-necessity.

In a way, Castiel was disappointed, even if he was also relieved. He loathed to destroy the relationship he had with Dean, so knowing that his moment of physical affection hadn't ruined everything was a relief. But he was sad about it too. That brief contact had meant so much to him.

If Angels dreamt, that would be the moment Castiel dreamt of until the end of time. Dean's skin, warm, his body so relaxed, so trusting, his mind so content. All because of Castiel himself.

He felt changed. And pathetic, that Dean was so unaffected.

He supposed, physical touch was nothing new to the Hunter. He was a human man, touch was part of his everyday life. Anything Castiel made him feel Dean was sure to have felt before. Not like Castiel.

Dean muttered something in his sleep, and Castiel's eyes shot over to him, seeing his head bob to the other side in unrest. Castiel watched carefully as one of Dean's hands clenched in the sheets, and something stirred in the Angel at that sight. First something protective, and then something deeper and darker Castiel didn't dare identify

He turned away, giving Dean the privacy he so desired, and praying that the man's dreams weren't of Hell, but of something better.

. . . . .

_The creature surrounded him, was everywhere he turned, was impossibly fast. It had him cornered. Somehow, he knew Sam wouldn't be there to save him. He knew he was no match for this creature. It knew every move before he made it, knew every instinct before his slow human body could act on it. It was all around him in a silvery mist of something black and powerful._

_He turned this way and that to get away from it, to find an opening and run - the creature was strong, too strong. Stronger than him. And it scared him._

_But everywhere he turned it was already there, the almost iridescent black swirl of hard lines and soft edges._

_And an electric streak of blue._

_Dean's terror gave way to resignation - he couldn't outrun the creature. He couldn't escape it. So why fight a futile battle? He stood still, feeling the creature continue to circle around him a few moments more, as if to prove the point, before the silvery-black mass of mist settled before him._

_Now he would face it. Now he would face this creature like a man. He didn't have any choice._

_The black mist, shining in some impossible, almost beautiful way, began to condense before his eyes, making some solid form, a shape he couldn't yet recognize. The blackness split down the middle, parting to expose a silhouette beneath - something that was too bright to look at. The blackness formed at the creature's flanks, stretching out massively, majestically._

_Wings._

_He knew it burned, he knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help looking at the creature, trying to peer through the light to the thing underneath. His breath caught in his chest as the light began to recede._

_And there, standing like it was poised for battle, was an Angel of the Lord._

_Its skin still glowed white, so pale, so ivory and Heavenly that it stung his eyes to look at him. The Angel's hair was dark and wild, his eyelashes, black and mesmerizing in how pretty they were against his pale skin. His cheekbones were high and his face handsome. His lips were wide, faintly pink and set into a strong, impassive line. And his eyes, so blue..._

_Dean knew this creature. He knew it. But he couldn't remember..._

_He tried desperately to make it click into place. The Angel was so close, so dangerous, he could feel the power radiating from it in daunting waves, and while Dean was intelligently wary, he was somehow now, unafraid._

_He looked at the Angel's impossibly white dress shirt, a few top buttons unbuttoned, and he saw the dip at the base of the Angel's neck._

_He could almost remember..._

_The Angel seemed to revel in Dean's confused examination. It stared, like a challenge, and never faltered. Dean couldn't look away._

_He remembered._

_"Castiel..."_

Dean awoke with a gasp, sitting up fast enough to make himself dizzy. His clothes were damp and his face hot. His eyes shot immediately to the couch, where he already knew Castiel was sitting. The Angel was obviously tense. The way his head was tilted, as if he was tempted to look back over his shoulder at Dean, Dean could tell he'd heard. He could tell Castiel wanted to look, but spared him the discomfort.

"Was it a nightmare?" Castiel asked, his voice straining to sound disinterested.

"No," Dean answered honestly. "No. It wasn't."

* * *

><p>There was a slight chill in the air that made Sam almost rethink the thin T-shirt he wore with his sweatpants, but he didn't bother to turn back. He cracked his neck and stretched, slipping his earbuds in and turning up the volume on the MP3 player. But he only got so far as two blocks before halting less than gracefully.<p>

Across the street, outside the diner, she was there.

_Diner girl_, he smiled to himself. She was fussing with the lock on the diner's door, her purse slipping off of her shoulder, her tongue sticking out as she clumsily fought with it. Sam was jogging over to her before he realized where his legs were taking him.

"Hey," he greeted, pulling the earbuds out.

She whipped around, surprised, "Oh!"

"Sorry, sorry," Sam apologized immediately, "I didn't mean to sneak up on you-"

She smiled, seeing it was him, and his stomach clenched a little. "Sorry, it's fine. I just - this damn thing has been rusted for ages and they just won't fix it," she brandished the key at the worse-for-wear lock. "It's like pick-axing into Fort Knox to get into work every morning."

He laughed a little at her expense and the once again very colorful wording before stepping in, holding out his hand. "May I?"

"Please."

She handed over the key and Sam worked it into the lock, using his manly-man strength to twist the thing and open the door.

"My hero," she jibed, obviously slighted that she wasn't able to do it herself. Sam laughed and she couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Ow! Shhhhhhoot-" she let out suddenly.

"What, what? You ok?" Sam came close to her, probably more concerned than he should be.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I got my ring caught." She brought her hand up, looking distressed at the bent fixture on the ring. It was a large, black ovular cameo with a gold band and fixture. The cameo seemed familiar to Sam, but he couldn't quite pin it down.

"Dang, I bent it," she brushed her fingertip over the bent pieces of fixture poking up.

"It's an easy fix," Sam noted, taking her hand in his and scrutinizing the ring, "if you want me to bend it back, I think I can."

He looked up from the ring to see her staring at him, a slight pink to her cheeks. That's when he realized he'd taken her hand in both of his. He would've said something, but his voice seemed to entirely leave him.

"Sure. Thanks," she said a little quietly. She smiled down at her shoes as she slipped her hand from his. "Come on in, I'll put on coffee."

Sam followed her in, a small smile on his lips.

* * *

><p>Dean's overwhelmingly vivid dream had him behaving very docilely. He was trapped in his thoughts. Even at breakfast, he munched his toast silently, staring down into his plate with furrowed brow. When Castiel informed him purposely blandly and without making eye contact that he could ensure Dean slept peacefully if Dean would allow, Dean didn't respond nearly as waspishly as Castiel expected. He simply declined the offer, <em>politely<em>.

Cas knew better than to push the issue, and Dean was thankful for that. And for the offer itself. It warmed Dean that Cas would expend his Heaven-given energy just to put him to sleep. In Cas' weird way, it was sweet. When Dean's cheeks started to feel warm and he suspected himself of a girlish blush he was glad his brother wasn't there to notice it.

Sam had gone out early and not yet returned, but Dean wasn't worried. Sam could handle himself. Besides, he and Cas had their itinerary for the day.

And wasn't that just strange - he and Cas, a Hunting team...

It was especially strange in how easy of a transition it was, from working with Sam to working with Cas.

Sam had relayed all the information he'd learned from Diner Girl the night before, and Dean had decided that the next best move was to interrogate the first victim - Randy Gunning.

"He was the first one hit. Might hold some significance," Dean had said. Sam agreed and offered to continue checking out the diner, to no one's surprise.

Now Dean and Castiel were standing outside Gunning's residence, neither entirely comfortable with how much they were winging-it on this case. Randy lived in the apartment above the Garage that first his father and now he owned. They made their way through the shop and up the stairs and Dean knocked on the door, clearly not in the mood to wait.

There was a clumsy ruckus behind the door before it swung open and there was a blinding flash.

Dean covered his eyes, shaking his head.

"Perfect!" Randy Gunning announced. From what little Dean could see he was a disheveled little man, and very pleased with himself as he pulled the newest picture from his old polaroid camera. He was rocking a definite Doc Emmett Brown vibe - thin, balding, what hair was left was a reddish brown and sticking up everywhere, and he had a face full of scruff that looked like he'd simply forgotten to shave for a few days. His eyes were wide and glassy, brimming with eccentricity and excitement.

Dean was immediately not in the mood to deal with it. He pulled his badge out of his jacket and displayed it for the man.

Another blinding flash had Dean wincing and disoriented. "What the-"

"That first candid is gonna be great," Randy stated excitedly, said photo clutched between his teeth as his hands were busy trying to pull free the newest photo. "So, you're a Fed, huh? I always liked Agent Mulder. Man, he was awesome."

"Randy Gunning?" Dean demanded gruffly.

"You bet."

"We'd like to talk to you about-"

"Oh sure, sure! Come on in!"

The man turned and disappeared into the apartment. Cas and Dean exchanged a wary glance, before heading in after him.

Upon entering the apartment Dean had to stop and let out a whistle, his eyes wide. The walls, the ceiling, every surface Randy could get to had been covered with polaroids.

"Like what you've done with the place," Dean commented sarcastically. "Very _Beautiful Mind_..."

"I hardly see what's aesthetic about this," Cas noted dryly, wandering over to inspect some of the pictures more closely.

Randy popped up from behind what Dean could only assume was a breakfast bar beneath the mass of photos.

"These are all my work. I love to photograph, you know - candids mostly. Very 'in the moment'." He stood up straight, taking stock of his place, "Great, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." Dean answered, ready to move this along. "Listen, Randy-"

"Call me Randy."

"...Um, ok. Well _Randy_, when did you first start feeling like you didn't want to be a mechanic anymore, and wanted to snap all these pictures all over town instead? What made you come to the decision?"

"Oh... I don't know. I just remember I got this wonderful feeling of... _screw it!_ This desire filled me up you know, this need to celebrate my life, do what I want. Drink, and be merry! It's been groovy."

"Right," Dean maneuvered around the cluttered apartment, inspecting the photos. "Did anything out of the ordinary happen before you made your career change?"

"Mmmmm," Randy squinted, looking up at the ceiling and thinking hard. "Nope!" he decided, with a smile.

"Of course not," Dean muttered, moving over towards Cas, seeing he was bent down inspecting something very closely.

Dean bent down beside him to get a better look, completely ignoring the way their shoulders brushed ever so lightly. _Not the time..._ Scotch-taped to the Randy's old TV was an entire collection of snapshots of The Grapevine. Dean pulled one of the pictures off of the TV tilting towards Cas who gave him a knowing look.

"So Randy," Dean started, he and Cas standing up in tandem and turning around just in time for another debilitating flash.

"Thanks," Dean growled, shaking his head.

"No, thank you," Randy said honestly. "You two have great chemistry. Very charged."

Cas' jaw clenched and Dean's eyes went wide.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly continuing, "Mr. Gunning-"

"Randy."

"Randy, did you happen to go to the Grapevine the day you had your... _groovy_ epiphany?"

"Oh yeah. Go there every day. Great eggs benedict."

"So I hear."

Another flash.

"Agh - damn it!" Dean covered his eyes. Cas seemed unaffected by the flashes per se, but extremely uncomfortable with the picture-taking nonetheless.

Dean's jaw was tight as he was losing patience. But he tried to barrel through the interrogation, "You ever notice anything-"

Flash.

"Ok that's it," Dean snatched the camera from Randy, who looked rather distraught about being without it. "Listen up bud, I want to know everything you know about the Grapevine and about the day you started going all Cheech Marin or I swear to God I will punt this thing out the window." He brandished the camera so there would be no confusion or doubt.

Randy stared at him, completely surprised. "_Geez_, fine... Been going to that diner all my life. It's always been there."

"Anything strange happen there? Anything unusual about the people that own it?"

"No. Just normal folk. Nothing strange happens there that I can think of."

"What about the day you changed your mind about being a mechanic?"

"Mmm...No. Went in. Had breakfast. Same as always. Can I have my camera back now? It'll kill me if you break it."

And Dean could tell by the disheveled man's expression that it was the truth. Disappointed in the lack of intel they'd just received he handed the man his camera.

"Look," Randy started, hanging the camera around his neck and sorting through his newest photos, "I'm real sorry you didn't find out what you were lookin' for." He came forward and placed a polaroid in Dean's breast pocket. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I like you," he said plainly, with a smile. "You're a nice guy. Kinda snarky. Kick-ass in your way. Wouldn't wanna piss you off! But you're a big softy underneath," he smiled conspiratorially, poking at Dean's chest.

Dean recoiled from the claim, partly to save face, and partly because of the embarrassment of knowing that Randy could not, in his current state, lie. "Yeah, thanks Randy," he said sarcastically, extracting himself from the man's hold and heading for the door.

Dean had escaped out into the hallway before Cas could follow. Randy caught Cas by the arm, holding out another polaroid, motioning for Cas to take it. Cas sighed, slumping, and quickly snatched up the picture, turning it over in disinterest before really taking in the image. When he did bother to look at it, everything stopped.

He brought the picture close, so he could examine it in detail.

It turned out to be the capture of a very intimate and telling image - he and Dean standing face to face, looking into each other's eyes, mid-conversation. Randy was right, the chemistry was undeniable.

Randy held up another photo, waving it at Cas with a wink. Castiel took it and Randy clapped him twice on the back; then he winked again, this time bigger, and his grin is downright ridiculous. Castiel tilted his head at the strange man.

Dean called from the safety of the hallway, "Cas! Come on!"

Castiel gave Randy an almost-smile out of courtesy, and retreated to the the hallway, storing the two photos, one of which he hadn't even gotten to look at yet, in his pocket.

* * *

><p>The drive through town was slow, and not even the sound of Dean talking on the phone could distract Castiel from the feeling of those photos weighing down his pocket, their presence undeniable and driving him mad. He didn't dare look at them with Dean right there. He found himself touching the pocket often, as if to be sure the photos hadn't been lost.<p>

As Dean talked to Sam, he couldn't help but be distracted. In his desperation to get the Hell out of there before punching Randy, he'd almost forgotten that the guy had slipped a picture into his pocket. Now it was all he could do to keep from pulling it out and looking - but he didn't. He wasn't sure why, but he held off. He wanted to be alone.

"Dean, are you there? _Hellooo_?" Sam's annoyed voice snapped him back to reality.

Despite the case and his brother's apparent inability to hold a five minute conversation, Sam was strutting down the street, silly grin on his face, hair flopping with every step. He shook his head when he heard Dean clear his throat loudly, awkwardly.

_Probably started staring at Cas and forgot he was even talking to me..._

"Yeah, uh, anyway," Dean restarted, gruffly, compensating for his musings by giving his voice as much presence as he could muster. "Gunning had a whole collection of pictures of The Grapevine. I think that's where we need to start focusing."

"The diner? I just came from there."

"You notice anything?"

"The eggs are kinda runny...?"

"_Sam_," Dean warned.

"No, Dean. I didn't notice anything." That wasn't entirely true... he'd noticed the Hell out of the waitress.

"Well that's three of them now that ate at the same place right before they went all hippy-dippy."

"_Hippy-dippy?_" Sam mocked.

"Yes. All, free-love, and rolling in the grass, and 'let's just do whatever we want, who cares about the bills...' If you were actually working this case instead of working the Diner Girl you might've caught something."

"Dean, I didn't miss anything. And screw you very much for implying-"

"I'm not implying. I'm straight-out saying. You're distracted-"

"And you're not!" _Oh crap. Didn't mean to say that. Shouldn't have said that._

There was a static-y silence between them. Sam was standing still on the sidewalk, waiting for Dean's response, feeling like he'd just poked a bear.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded, his voice low and challenging.

"Nothing. Just... look, I'm doing my job," Sam tried to cover.

Dean gave a frustrated sigh. "This place is looking more and more like ground zero. We're gonna check it out again. That's it."

"But-"

"Be there in fifteen." Dean hung up.

Sam sighed, stowing his phone back in his pocket and turning around to walk back to the diner. He hoped he didn't piss Dean off to the point that he'd still be fuming when they met up. He hoped Dean didn't take his frustration out on Cas. And most of all, Sam hoped the waitress didn't think he was creepy for showing up _again_.

* * *

><p>Sam ended up at the Diner's door the same time as Dean and Cas, and thanked his lucky stars that while Dean was in a sour mood, it didn't seem directly or maliciously aimed at Sam himself. Nor was it aimed at Cas. Dean was simply... in a mood.<p>

_Like working with a fourteen year old girl..._ Sam thought, leading the way. He took a seat at the same booth where he'd had his first conversation with Diner Girl. It was his familiar little nook.

She noticed him and quirked an eyebrow, he shrugged.

"Hey," she smiled warmly at him, coming over to the table depositing three glasses of water. "Back so soon?"

"Yeah, I've got a fast metabolism."

She laughed and the two locked eyes. Castiel shifted uncomfortably, getting that look that screamed _I'd rather be invisible..._ Dean simply watched his brother fawn over the girl. She was cute, he'd give him that. But then Sammy always did attract some top-shelf lookers. Dean would never give him that credit out loud, but it was true. Diner Girl was no exception. She was sweet, and smooth, and curvy and had that all-american smile and those sparkling brown eyes. She was just Sam's type. A _nice_ girl. A deviation from the evil thing that was Ruby - thank God. _Those two had made quite a dynamic duo_, Dean thought bitterly. But if Dean was being honest, Sam needed a good girl. Because at heart, he was a good boy.

Dean's subconscious wanted to joke about what kind of girl that meant he himself would want, but before he could smirk and think of himself as a _bad boy_ flanked by a leather-wearing, harley-riding, bad _girl_, his heart fluttered at the thought of a super-powerful, handsome creature with blue eyes caught eternally, hopelessly between good boy and bad boy.

He shifted uncomfortably almost in tandem with Castiel.

Seeming to realize they'd forgotten themselves, Sam and the waitress snapped out of it.

"Um, what can I get for you?"

"Nothing," Sam smiled.

"I do not require sustenance," Cas stated. Sam winced a little at the odd statement and looked at the waitress, who simply gave a bemused nod.

"Coffee. Black," Dean demanded.

The waitress scratched down the order with the pencil that was in her hair before smiling at the three and heading back to the bar.

When she was out of earshot Castiel looked at Dean sincerely and asked, "Is that wise, with your heart-"

Dean coughed loudly, choking on his water. Sam looked at him curiously, slowly processing what Cas had said, and then looking at him with concern added to the confusion. "What's wrong with your heart?" Sam asked warily.

Cas stared at Dean disapprovingly as the man choked on nothing.

"Nothing," Dean dismissed. He shot Cas a look that should have said _Shut Up_, but Cas never was good at reading faces.

Cas simply shook his head in obvious disappointment at Dean's self-destructive behavior. "You drink far too much coffee, Dean. Perhaps the next time you have an erratic heartbeat you will need revival, and I will not be around," he chided quietly, looking into his own water glass with feigned disinterest.

Dean's eyes met Sam's and Sam quirked his head at him as if to ask what was going on. Dean merely looked away. And that was the biggest give-away that there was more to it. But Sam didn't ask, despite his curiosity.

It was a tense lunch overall. Dean could spot nothing supernatural about the place, and neither could Cas. Which Dean was irritated to point out, left them back at square one. He got up from the table huffing and disappeared into the bathroom.

Dean looked at himself in the mirror briefly as he rinsed his hands, then something hit him. He'd been so wrapped up in the case, he'd forgotten about Randy Gunning. He dried his hands hastily on his pants and fished the photo out of his pocket.

If a picture was worth a thousand words, Dean shuddered to think what story this picture told - the image was of Castiel looking directly into the camera, head tilted, expression both irritated and forgiving (the expression of a superior being putting up with human ridiculousness, Dean imagined). Due to the flash, Castiel's eyes were glowing so impossibly blue. The light reflecting off his pale skin making him glow Heavenly-white. And though it was breathtaking, it was _not_ the part of the picture that had Dean's heart in his throat. The image clearly displayed, plain as day, Dean standing at the Angel's side, staring at him as if he were the only thing in the world. Dean stared at Castiel with such longing, such adoration, such uninterrupted focus...

Dean had never imagined this was what it looked like from the outside when he got stuck gazing at Cas. Now it was knocking the wind out of him. The look on his own face... The breadth of the space between them was so small...

It was obvious. Painfully so. It was obvious what that expression was, what that chemistry meant.

_I've never seen myself look like that... I don't even know who that guy is._

_Sure you do. That's the guy Cas sees when he's staring back._

Dean didn't have a response for that. There was no argument or sarcastic witticism that could cover what he was feeling. He placed the photo gently back into his breast pocket, hand smoothing over the fabric, feeling where the polaroid was resting against his chest.

He sighed heavily, more confused than ever.

Sam seemed to notice a shift in Dean's mood when he got back to the table, even if Castiel didn't. Dean wasn't angry anymore, no longer brimming with frustration. Still deeply entrenched in some kind of feeling, some turmoil. But he wasn't upset. He was... contemplative.

"Alright," Dean started, only pretending to sound like his regular self, which was more than obvious to Sam who was kind enough not to mention it. "Cas and I are going to go see if we can't talk to more of the victims."

"Ok, great idea. Yeah. I'll uh, I'll just stay behind to keep an eye on the diner." _Wow. That wasn't obvious... Oh shut up._

Dean rolled his eyes. "You just want to get more face-time with Diner Girl."

"I'll get the job done," Sam added forcefully.

"Yeah, yeah. Get more than her number Romeo." Dean mussed his brother's hair teasingly as he walked by, Cas in tow, and Sam hurried to fix it, cursing Dean under his breath. That made Dean laugh.

* * *

><p>With Dean and Cas safely gone, Sam headed over to the bar, taking up a stool at the end of the counter where he'd noticed the waitress spent most of her time. She smiled as he sat next to where she was refilling a sugar jar.<p>

"Interesting lunch date," she joked.

Sam laughed a little. To any normal girl Dean must have seemed grumpy and demanding, and Castiel must seem... downright autistic. But to Sam's surprise, the waitress didn't seem too put off by them. "Don't judge them based on this one meeting," Sam implored. "They're not a rough as they seem."

"Oh, I don't know, I guess you're right. They were pretty cute," she baited.

"They're not as cute as they seem either."

She laughed at a bait well-played. "Ok, let me guess," she turned to him and put her fingers to her temple in a mock psychic pose. "The hyper-masculine heartthrob is your brother. And the stiff one with the blue eyes if his _friend_. Right?"

"That transparent, huh?"

"A little," she smiled at him and he laughed. "But, I'm good at reading people."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's a skill. And those two, totally want each other." Sam pulled a grimace and the waitress laughed.

"What can you read about me?" Sam asked, stuck halfway between being truly curious and just wanting to flirt with her.

"Hmm..." she squinted at him, leaning her elbows on the counter and resting her chin on her hands. "You're smart. Maybe a little too smart for whatever career you're in right now. You've got lots of extra brain energy to burn off."

Sam looked impressed. He was also flattered by the assessment, "Gee, thanks."

"You're single."

"Can't deny it."

"And you have been for awhile."

Sam cocked his head at her.

"Takes one to know one," she explained. He nodded.

The cook rang the bell for an order up and she gave Sam one last smile before going back off to work.

_Smooth..._ he approved of his own charm.

_Now focus on the case._

* * *

><p>Dean and Castiel were walking down the street toward the car, Dean trying in vein not to sneak looks at Castiel again and again. When they passed the local courthouse, Castiel's gaze seemed to fix on it, which afforded Dean the opportunity to really look at the Angel. He'd known for some time what the fluttering in his heart meant, but it had been an enlightening experience to see the affection written all over his own face. Undeniable. Now when he looked at Cas, there was no separating what he saw, from what he knew he felt.<p>

It was strange, not to be able to deny it, even to himself. He was kind of thankful that Cas seemed oblivious, as always, of his scrutiny and his mind at work.

The Angel simply examined the Courthouse, which doubled as the Town Hall, with sharp focus. It was a small, unimpressive building - it had no need to be opulent or imposing in such a small town. But it did possess one element of aesthetic importance - large, white, corinthian columns on either side of the door. Castiel had neglected to notice them before, but now he did.

And _that_ was when the Angel of Thursday, had his_ Doctor House_ moment.

He stopped dead in his tracks, quirking his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he focused very hard, remembering...

Having been staring at him shamelessly, Dean immediately noticed that spark in Castiel's eyes, the wheels turning as he pieced together something important. The suddenness of Castiel's epiphany had Dean a little worried "Cas?" he couldn't help but ask, knowing he probably shouldn't interrupt his thought process. "Cas, what is it?"

After a long moment of staring at nothing, Castiel's eyes flashed up to Dean's, nearly knocking the breath out of the man.

"I remember where I've seen the Ivy." Dean's eyebrows raised as he waited for Cas to continue. "I know what we're dealing with."

* * *

><p>Sam had excused himself from the diner silently when the waitress was busy dealing with customers. Now he was skulking around the building, knowing how insane and creepy he would look if caught, and praying that he wouldn't be. He checked over his shoulder as he circled around the building, peering into every nook and cranny for evidence of witchcraft or anything paranormal.<p>

He hurried around the corner to the back of the diner, his eyes going wide when he was met with the sight of Ivy, having busted up through the pavement and climbed the wall of the diner. Just like Dean described at the victims' houses. Only this was twice as much - the base of the building was covered in the overgrown plant, winding and blooming in its tangled, green riot. It would be aesthetically pretty, if it wasn't in this case, significant of foulplay.

Sam sighed heavily, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He'd really been hoping the diner's involvement was a coincidence. Now that it clearly wasn't, he couldn't help but be a little heartbroken.

He held his phone up to his ear, his voice came out tired and dejected (a fact that he would adamantly deny later). He spoke before Dean got the chance, "Hey man, I think maybe the diner is ground zero after all."

* * *

><p><strong>Another long one, I know. Covering some ground.<strong>

**Thanks for reading, and especially for the reviews! They are very much appreciated, I promise. They help keep the creative sparks a-lighting.**


	9. Complications of Rediscovery

**I have been told my jedi mind tricks have no sway over you fine readers... Damn. There's one career option down the tubes. So i****n lieu of learning that I am incapable of coercing you via _The Force_, I'll just have to ask politely - please excuse any mistakes!**

**Thanks so much for the reviews. And extra points to Tanni-chan! Fireworks tonight in your honor! You clever duck...**

* * *

><p>Complications of Rediscovery.<p>

The Host of Heaven was not designed to handle epiphanies gracefully. Ironically enough. Angels were built with a certain problem-solving instinct into their every fibre, a _keep it simple_ gene, which made them inclined to see the most pragmatic solution and be hesitant to consider others. Once an epiphany was made, they did not wait before taking immediate action. It was in their nature to _do_.

Upon piecing together the realization of where he knew the Ivy from, Castiel immediately pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead right there in the middle of the street, giving the man that unfortunately familiar feeling of the floor disappearing beneath him and his head full of cotton, before being deposited less than gracefully back at the motel.

As soon as Dean could feel his feet on solid ground he reached out as if he was about to topple over, ending up with a fistful of trenchcoat, and an armful of Angel.

Snapping from one location to another was something Dean would daresay he would never entirely get used to. But he was prepared enough now a days not to need nearly an entire minute and a half leaning against Castiel to pull himself together.

Which is why it was particularly strange that he seemed to do just that.

Feeling he might fall, Dean had reached out, twisting towards the only thing he knew for sure was there - Castiel. And reflexively Castiel had turned toward Dean, to catch him. It resulted in Dean swaying into the Angel's arms, sunk a little lower than his full height, leaving him pressed against Castiel's chest, looking up into his electric blue eyes.

Castiel's face was impassive as he held Dean, but there was so much happening behind those eyes that Dean felt if Cas kept staring like that the angel might accidentally light him on fire.

Before he knew it they'd been standing there, pressed against each other for a full, silent minute.

Dean suddenly became sharply aware of the places where their bodies touched. He could feel the heat of Cas' hands, tight on his biceps. His heart skipped and fluttered in his chest.

Castiel's brow furrowed, he looked down at Dean disapprovingly, "I warned you about the coffee Dean."

And Dean could only swallow thickly, his words leaving him, because Castiel's voice was even lower than it usually was, and oddly quiet.

Castiel moved to stand Dean up straight, and Dean cleared his throat, embarrassed, jumping back from the angel to straighten himself out.

"I'll return in a moment."

A slight breeze had Dean looking up to see that Cas was suddenly gone. But before he could analyze the resulting pang of longing, Cas had returned - with Sam at his side.

"Cas, what the Hell?" Sam asked, steadying himself.

When Sam's eyes met his in question Dean offered, "I think he solved the case..."

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes and a good deal of explanation later, Dean stared at Castiel in disbelief. "<em>Dionysus<em>? ...Like... Greek _God_ Dionysus? Like... grape-eating, rave-throwing Dionysus?"

Both Sam and Cas peered at Dean curiously, heads tilted.

There was a long silent moment in which Dean crackled under their combined stare, before adding defensively, "_What_? I know things."

Sam pulled an impressed expression. Castiel explained, "The Ivy we have been seeing, it used to grow around his temples, places where people worshipped him. It was a symbol of his power - lively but dangerous. That's why I didn't remember it. It has been quite some time since then."

Sam was on his laptop before you could say _nerd_, typing in a frenzy and scrolling through the pages. "Ok, it says here that the his cult used wine, madness and ecstacy to free people from their self-restraints, eliminating the cares or worries of his worshippers."

"Well that hits the nail on the head," Dean mused.

"I can't believe it..." Sam shook his head, staring off, "I mean we've seen a few here and there but... all those legends, all those Gods and Goddesses and the myths...they're all real?"

"Certainly not," Castiel immediately corrected. "Humanity has a way of... embellishing. Most of these individuals were not even deities of any sort. Merely creatures possessing a certain degree of supernatural power."

"Like the ability to get people stoned and let them bliss-out forever while you feed off their crazy," Dean added bitterly.

"Dionysus may have been considered to be a Greek Deity of ecstacy, but he wasn't without his wickedness. He would kill anyone who attempted to keep his followers from feeling his influence," Castiel informed.

"Did his influence look a lot like what we have here?" Dean asked.

"Close enough."

Dean and Sam looked at each other agreeing, it was enough for them too.

Castiel added, "If I remember correctly, he inspired a great deal of drunken fornication. His debauchery was fascinating if not cause for concern."

"So, you... _knew_ Dionysus? Like... personally?" Sam asked, fascinated.

"I daresay no one really knew him. He was difficult to understand. Fickle and inconstant and a slave to his every desire. He derived great pleasure from sending his worshippers into hysterics. The effects of which often resulted in inducing drunken, erotic consorting among entire towns. It was..." he stared down at the table, choosing his word, "_loud_," he finished with distaste.

"Sounds like a good time to me," Dean joked.

Sam looked at him with a smile of contempt that said, _You're a man-whore_.

Castiel seemed to ignore the comment completely.

"Great. So how do we kill the Greek God of the Happy Hour?" Dean moved things along.

"We may not have to," Castiel stated, looking down into the pages of an old book.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances - they hadn't even noticed he'd come and gone, but he must have. That book was neither of theirs and they doubted he'd been carrying it around in his trenchcoat. It wasn't unusual for Cas to disappear at the drop of a hat and return as quickly, but this time he was so fast about it neither of them had even comprehended it.

_Impressive_, Dean thought.

"There was a spell, I remember my brothers speaking of it back when the Greeks were becoming... out of hand. The spell was a binding of sorts."

"Good, that's great. The less murder the better, right?" Sam added, pleased. Dean shrugged as if to say he didn't entirely agree, and Sam shot him a hard look. "Do we really want to be the assholes who kill _Dionysus_?" Sam argued at Dean.

"You needn't be worried about killing Dionysus. He is already dead," Castiel stated tersely, and absolutely.

There was a silent confusion.

Dean squinted at the angel, telegraphing said confusion very obviously.

Sam's face was the picture of a man trying to connect the dots, "But you said..." Castiel did not respond so Sam asked frustrated, "What is it then?"

"Not it, who. It is Dionysus, but not directly," Castiel stated flatly.

The Angel looked at the boys, unblinking, as if it should all make sense. He sighed impatiently continuing, "It would not have been unlike him to have..." he shifted uncomfortably, trying to word it, "spread his seed copiously amongst the human race."

Dean pulled a slightly put-off face. "Oh... Sexy."

Thankfully, Dean's sarcasm was finally starting to read with Cas, so the Angel felt no need to question his response to the information.

"You're saying DemiGod," Sam deduced. "A descendant."

Castiel nodded.

"So, why would the DemiGod's power surface now? After years?"

"Could be any number of elements coming together. The trace amount of Dionysus' power within that person's genetics may have left their abilities dormant until some kind of trigger. Such as, an encounter with or sudden practice in ritual magic."

"So they would have always possessed the magic, but probably never accessed it," Sam mused, obviously enraptured.

Dean rolled his eyes, he was losing patience with the twenty questions. He was ready to get on with the hunt. "Is there any way to tell who it is?"

"There would be no external signs," Castiel informed.

Dean offered, "Gunning had pictures of the Grapevine all over the place. And with the Ivy too, I think we can safely say that's definitely ground zero. Hate to say it Sam... but, I think we're lookin' at someone who works there. Could be any one of them."

Sam nodded sadly. He tried not to let his disappointment show, but Dean knew him too well not to see it.

"I mean _anyone_ Sam. Diner Girl doesn't just get a pass cause she's cute," Dean added in that way that was both harsh and gentle. It was clear he didn't want to hurt his little brother, but he had to be sure Sam understood. And Sam knew that. He didn't blame Dean for the tone he knew so well - the demand to put the job first.

To cover the turmoil within, Sam simply rolled his eyes, "I know how to do my job Dean." He turned his back on Dean, busying himself and praying it wasn't her.

_Let it be anyone else. _

Dean tried to distract from Sam's obvious discomfort, "So... it's a DemiGod that we can't identify. Should be easy. We'll have to keep eyes on the place. Cas and I will wait outside, stake the place out, Sam, you're a regular. You can go in and scout it out from there."

Sam turned and faced Dean with his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Sure, Dean... and how am I supposed to identify this person? What do I just _guess_?"

"That would be a less than precise way to go about it," Castiel muttered.

"Better ideas?" Dean returned, looking at Cas critically.

"The worship of Apollo did severely irk him," Cas considered, "he often flew into a rage at the mention of him. Perhaps his descendant has a similar dislike ingrained."

Dean shrugged, "It's thin... but it's something."

Sam stared at Dean and Cas with a level of irritation just this side of disbelief, "_Thin?_ Yeah. I'll say." He always hated the idea of going in blind. Just because they tended to wing-it, didn't mean Sam had ever liked it. "What do we do when we find it?"

"Leave that to me," Castiel said tersely.

Sam and Dean shared a look. "Easy enough," Dean shrugged.

* * *

><p>Sam entered the diner with a familiar nervousness building in his chest. But today the fidget-inducing nerves weren't just for the waitress, it was also for the job. He was a six and a half foot solid wall of jitters as he wandered over to the counter and sat down, his eyes scanning the restaurant. The descendant of a Greek God was somewhere in this building, turning the people of their town against their better judgement, causing murder and attempted murder and a whole lot of general chaos. And Sam should have been sharp, ready to fight. But instead, all he could think of was her.<p>

He glimpsed her behind the counter and his heart sank - somehow he'd been hoping she just wouldn't be here. His legs carried him heavily over to the counter; he sat on the stool closest to where she stood, back to him, fussing with an old coffee maker. His heart ached when she turned and saw him, immediately smiling and letting out an excited "Hey!" then blushing furiously as if it had come out far too excited.

"Hey," he returned, trying to sound normal. _Just get to it Sam, before you screw it up or something_. So I've been walking around town... Those are some pretty neat Corinthian columns you got out there, on the Town Hall."

She smiled at him with dubious eyes, "You're easily impressed."

"Nah, nah. I just... I like Ancient Civilizations. Greece especially. Architecture, culture...mythology... You know anything about that?"

"About as much as the next Community College grad," she joked. Turning to him she said, "But that's cool."

He couldn't help the skip in his heart, even as his mind warned him against her charm. She turned away again, getting back to the coffee maker. Sam trained his eyes on her, "Been reading a lot about... Apollo."

He waited for a reaction...

"Oh yeah? What about him?" she asked conversationally.

_No smoking gun there..._

"Um... well he was very rational. Apparently, way more serious a God than Dionysus," he baited obviously.

She gave a polite, _Hm_.

Sam's shoulders slumped, and he wasn't sure if it was from relief that she didn't turn around and spit fire at him, or from disappointment that there was still no way to know whether it was her, and the whole _Apollo_ thing just didn't work. _This is a stupid plan..._

There was an irritated "Order up," from down the other end of the bar, and the waitress gave Sam a quick smile before heading over to retrieve the plates.

_Ok, now or never_... Sam told himself, standing to survey the restaurant for staff and regulars. His eyes landed on the elder, surlier waitress at the other end of the restaurant.

Sam snuck across the room and up behind the elder waitress as casually and stealthily as a man of his size can in a crowded, well-lit diner. He glanced around, feeling like an idiot, before saying to her back, "_Apollo_."

She turned and looked him up and down, critically. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave him the face that said, _Why the Hell are you in my space?_. He gave an awkward laugh before adding, "Dionysus sucks...?"

Her eyes grew sharp - but not with rage at the insult to the God so much as with irritation at yet another crazy-person getting in her way.

"Sorry... never mind," Sam apologized awkwardly before walking away.

On his way back to the bar he saw the cook lean out from the back, "Hey," Sam called for his attention.

The man looked at him expectantly.

"Apollo."

"What?"

"Never mind," Sam kept walking, frustrated.

The cook worked the encounter over in his mind a moment before retreating back to the kitchen with a shake of his head.

* * *

><p>The Impala was unbearably stuffy.<p>

Both Dean and Cas were working themselves into a veritable frenzy trying _not_ to think about each other. When the windows started to fog, Dean's heart started thumping.

_Great. Now it's like we're in friggin' Titanic..._

He rolled down his window and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sitting turned toward the Angel to stare past him out the passenger-side window, eyes trained on the diner's front entrance. That was, until he was distracted by Cas raising a curious fingertip to the window's now nearly opaque glass, wiping a slow streak into the fog.

Dean's instinct was to tell him not to get fingerprints all over the glass. He started to give a _Hey_, but when Cas lifted his pale, slender fingers to the glass again, drawing small symbols experimentally, Dean was entirely distracted. Cas seemed to get a small amount of joy from the simple thing, if the ghost of a smile on his lips was any indication.

And seeing Cas smile, made Dean smile.

"Me and Sam used to do that all the time, on those windows," he motioned to the back seat. "Made my dad crazy. We used to see if we could leave each other messages without him noticing," Dean smiled vaguely at the memory, and Castiel was enraptured.

Suddenly Dean was leaning over Castiel, and before his brain could ask him what the Hell he was doing, he was breathing against the glass to fog it up.

Castiel was frozen where he sat, as Dean leaned over his lap, closing his eyes briefly as his breath hit the window.

Castiel swallowed hard at the sight, barely keeping it together, the itch to touch him is so overwhelming - and now he was so close, so tempting.

Dean brought his hand up, his finger writing _D.W._ into the new fog, a little lightning-bolt squiggle between the first and last initial. He smiled at Cas, expectantly, sitting back on his seat. He thought maybe he should be embarrassed, should feel stupid and sentimental, but looking at Cas' wide blue eyes, he just couldn't manage it.

_This feels good... It feels right to be here with him_.

Castiel reached up, tracing Dean's letters, noticing that oddly his fingers were trembling. He pressed his finger to the glass beside Dean's mark and wrote _C_.

There was a heavy moment of them both thinking about Castiel's lack of last name. The singular letter looked so incomplete. Dean leaned forward again and outlined the letter with two little wings on either side.

"There. _That's_ you."

Cas' smile was enough to break Dean's heart, and give him that familiar bubbling magma seeping into his chest.

There was a long stretch of strangely comfortable silence between them as they both watched the front of the restaurant.

Dean was the one to break it, baffled by his own sudden urge to speak, "So Heaven hasn't reeled you back yet, huh?"

"There is significant chaos in the wake of 'the Apocalypse that wasn't'. It only masks itself as peace. I doubt if my brothers are putting too much energy forth into finding me."

Dean gave a mirthless laugh at the state of Heaven.

Castiel suddenly shifted awkwardly. "You find _my_ family struggles to be mortifying. If only you had witnessed family gatherings on Olympus... Heaven is fairly well adjusted by comparison."

Castiel gave a slight smile and Dean was mesmerized.

"Was that... was that a _joke_?" Dean couldn't help the surprised laugh that escaped him at the realization.

Castiel's smile widened a little, crinkling the corners of his eyes, "I suppose it was, yes."

Dean laughed. He gave a good nod, "Not bad, Cas."

Dean could have stared at that rare smile all day, but just past Cas, out the window, Dean saw something...

The gruff-looking older waitress left the diner, looking over her shoulder suspiciously as she headed quickly down the street.

She was obviously nervous. Dean grabbed his cellphone, "Sam, the waitress is on the move."

"What? No she'd not. I'm looking at her right now."

"Yeah I bet you are," Dean jibed with frustration. "Not Diner _Girl_, the other one. Diner...Matron."

"I just questioned her," Sam said.

"Did she react to Apollo?"

"No, but it's pretty curious that she'd just take off right after I spoke to her."

"Yeah, she looks pretty shady too. Alright, me and Cas'll stay on her. You keep an eye on ground zero."

"Got it."

Dean hung up and tapped Cas' shoulder to tell him to get out of the car. They started following the waitress as subtly as they could.

* * *

><p>Sam waited impatiently in his booth, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. He was praying Dean called back to tell him that the other waitress was their culprit. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't even hear <em>his<em> waitress walk up.

"How's it goin' history buff?" she joked, sliding into the booth.

"Oh, you know... alright."

"You know, you said you like Ancient Greece... My grandmother was Greek," she said proudly.

Sam's eyes shot to hers. "You don't say..." he tried to keep his voice even.

"Yep. Always thought I should have embraced the culture more. She was pretty gung-ho about it." She reached over and grabbed Sam's drink, slipping the straw between her lips as if this was a totally normal thing to do with a man whose name you didn't even know. Sam was surprised at how this unusual girl seemed so comfortable with everyone she met, and he was starting to like how comfortable she was with him. The way she held the straw between her lips absentmindedly as she looked at him through dark eyelashes didn't hurt either...

In fact it totally distracted him from the task at hand, and the information he'd just been given.

She was just so pretty - wavy light brown hair, light brown eyes, a dusting of freckles on her face and arms and a perpetual glint in her eyes. A sparkle, really, that hinted at happiness, ease of pleasure, and maybe a little mischief. There was something about her that made it easy for him to picture them together - in more ways than one.

Sam blushed when he realized he was staring, and he let his eyes drift down from hers, landing on the opulent black ring. It made him smile to see the thing, cheap, black and gold, with the cameo -

Sam's smile vanished.

He squinted at the ring, taking in its picture as closely as he could. The cameo was of a man with a full beard and a head of curly hair, adorned in a wreath of ivy and grapes. It was the same image he'd seen in Castiel's book only hours before.

He'd known when he first saw the ring days ago that it was familiar. Now he knew why.

It was a cameo of Dionysus.

Sam's heart sank, his blood pounded in his ears. He looked up to see the waitress looking at him expectantly.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked how long you might be staying in town..." she looked down at the table, her cheeks pinking.

"Oh. Uh..."

_It's her! She's the one who's poisoning people!_

_But I think she really likes us..._

_What! Are you friggin' kidding!_

_I don't think she's capable of hurting anyone..._

_Crap, she's staring - Say something! Don't give yourself away as a Hunter!_

"Not sure yet," he recovered less than smoothly. "I was hoping to stick around a little longer..." And didn't it just sting that it was true.

He'd been hoping to stick around... for her. Now what was he supposed to do?

The waitress smiled shyly and took another sip before she slid the glass back over to Sam. "I've got an order up. I'll be back when you need a refill."

She smiled and walked away, picking up a few plates and rolling her eyes at the short-order cook who muttered something about 'taking a break'.

Sam took a deep breath and figured what to do next. He pulled out his phone, scrolling to Dean's name and pausing over the _send_ button.

He knew what he had to do.

He pressed _send_ and waited for Dean to pick up.

"Hey, Sam. You got something?"

"It's her," Sam admitted quietly, no preamble.

Dean was walking down the street with Castiel by his side. When he heard Sam's tone he stopped and gave Cas a knowing look. Cas simply nodded in understanding. They'd already discussed this possibility.

"You sure?" Dean asked warily.

"Yeah."

There was a moment of quiet.

"I'm sorry Sam."

"Yeah."

Another moment of quiet.

"Look, we're not gonna kill her as long as we don't have to. If Cas says he can bind her Godliness or whatever, then that's what we'll do. At least she'll live."

"Yeah, I know," Sam confirmed, trying to sound more confident in the plan than he was. Not having to waste her was a comfort, but a small one. This either meant that she knew all along what she was doing and was lying about it, stringing everyone along, himself included, _or_, she had no idea and they were about to kidnap and terrify her.

_Great_.

"Ok Sam, keep an eye on her. Cas and I are gonna go back to the motel, get set, and then I'll call you when it's go time. Got it?"

"Yeah, alright." Sam's answer was weak and annoyed.

"Sam," Dean warned roughly, "you got it?"

"Yes, Dean. I got it!" He slammed his phone shut angrily.

Sam sighed heavily, shoving his phone into his pocket. _This is just my friggin' luck_. He rubbed his hand through his hair before reaching forward for his glass and bringing the straw to his lips.

* * *

><p>"Well <em>he's<em> in a cheery mood," Dean muttered stowing his phone back in his pocket. He and Castiel were now passing through the park. They were noticeably without the Impala as they tracked the waitress, as it had become nearly impossible to maneuver a car around the increasingly chaotic town. People were no longer bothering to follow the rules of the road and Dean had come to the decision, and not lightly, that it was taking your life into your hands to be anywhere near the street in this town.

He and Cas had kept warily to the sidewalk and even up into the grass. Especially after a red pick-up truck came flying by at forty miles an hour, veering up onto the sidewalk as the driver's girlfriend flashed the townspeople out her open passenger window.

Castiel pulled Dean away from the truck's path at the last moment. And yet, despite nearly being killed in a vehicular manslaughter, Dean couldn't help but laugh and smile like a kid at Christmas as the truck turned the corner up ahead, the half-naked girl blowing him a kiss.

Castiel had simply looked at him disapprovingly.

Now they were going through the park in the center of town, knowing that despite it being a bit longer of a route back to the motel, it was a hell of a lot safer than the main drag.

It did have its share of crazies though.

On the park bench nearest to the sidewalk there were three women, easily in their forties, laughing hysterically at their inside jokes and passing around a curious little blunt.

Dean was a little shocked, but gave a laugh. _Soccer-moms gone wild_, he thought wistfully.

They whistled as he and Cas passed by them, and when Dean turned to look they giggled, red-faced, and huddled together hiding their faces. One woman whistled again, barely able through the laughter, and her friends swatted at her frantically, laughing hysterically. There were a couple of _Shush_'s and _Stop, they're looking'_s and Dean couldn't help but grin.

As he turned to walk away he winked at them and they all but screeched.

Cas practically pulled him away by the arm.

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"Dean, we don't have time for you to _indulge_," he said gravely.

"I wasn't! I was just appreciating being appreciated," he said with a wicked grin.

Castiel rolled his eyes and they continued.

Until a pair of bodies slammed into each other directly in front of them, interrupting their path very suddenly.

After a moment of confusion, it was obvious that the bodies were that of a young couple, who had obviously run to each other in a fervor, and were now attached at the face. They were making out furiously, right in front of Dean and Castiel, who could do nothing but watch as the couple all but lost control of themselves, sliding to the ground.

When they started tearing clothes off, Dean knew it was time to go. "Alright then..." he gave a nod and started walking.

But Cas didn't follow. He stayed put, staring down at the couple with that tilted-head interest, studying them.

Dean only got a few feet before turning around to see the Angel standing directly above the oblivious couple, staring, _studying_. Dean fought the urge to let Cas watch, and to watch him watch, and instead rushed over, grabbing Castiel by the arm and pulling him away. "Come on Peeping Tom."

Cas barely spared Dean a confused glance. Even as he was dragged away, his eyes were glued to the couple groping and rolling in the grass. As they got further away his stare was almost regretful, disappointed. He'd been curious to see where that went. Even as they crossed the park, Casteil kept turning back to observe how the couple had progressed.

Dean pretended not to notice. His instinct was to make a jibe, to joke about Castiel's obvious interest in sex. But every time his brain supplied a dirty or teasing quip, it got lodged in his throat before it could see daylight.

Because Dean liked that Cas was interested.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to shove those thoughts from his mind.

_God forbid you should let something slip about how much you want the Angel... how much you want to throw him down on the grass in the middle of this public park for everyone to see and make sure that coat gets covered in grass stains -_

_Stay on task, Dean!_ With all the free love in the air, it was better to keep his thoughts strictly business. Safer.

"So, a Demigod... you sure we're gonna be able to wrangle her? It's gonna be a tough fight I bet. Being even part God has to put some serious fuel in the tank. You sure you can handle that?"

It was meant to be conversational. In truth, the statement was entirely off-handed, as Dean's brain was still trying to break through disturbingly detailed fantasy-images of Castiel's back arched off the grass, trench coat fanned out around him...

Nevertheless, Cas stopped dead in his tracks at the question.

When Dean took a few steps, feeling Castiel was no longer by his side he turned back, noticing immediately how Castiel was glaring at him with electric-blue eyes.

The stare was unsettlingly fueled.

"What...?" Dean asked warily.

Castiel shook his head, obviously angry. He stormed onward, passing Dean in a huff.

"_What_?" Dean asked, getting annoyed.

Castiel stopped again suddenly, Dean faltering behind him, as he whirled around on the man. "Do you not remember that I battled through the hordes of Hell to get to you?"

Dean was struck silent by the suddenness of the comment. Of course he remembered.

"Do you imagine that was akin to strolling down an Earthly street?" Castiel motioned with irritation to the road. "Have I not laid evil to waste before your very eyes?" Castiel demanded, loudly.

Dean knew by the Angel's tone that he was in deep. He offered, placatingly, "Cas, I'm not sure what -"

His voice came out dark and gravel, "Allow me to make it clear for you." Castiel's posture stiffened and his head tilted downward until he was glaring at Dean from below dark lashes.

Dean's heart squeezed at the deja vu feeling brought on by the sight... the breath caught in his chest as he realized why it was so familiar - this was the way Castiel looked the first day they met. It was the same stance the Angel took when he displayed the shadow of his wings, when he displayed his strength.

Dean swallowed hard - what did Castiel intend to display this time?

A large, obviously very old oak tree several yards behind Castiel spontaneously burst into flames, the sky above it growing dark and stormy. Lightning struck the ground at the base of the tree twice in a row, leaving the grass scorched and black. The knotted trunk and branches seemed to splinter and break away too easily, and the ground shook with Heavenly wrath.

Then, in an instant, it was all gone - the sky was bright, the tree was whole, and there was no indication anyone had felt it but Dean.

He stared at Cas slack-jawed, with wide, awe-filled eyes.

Castiel stared back. He seemed taller, more intimidating, than only moments before. "Destruction is bred into me," he warned, his voice deep and utterly Angelic. Dean could do nothing but stand there, immobilized and listen. "As well as creation, or you would not be here." The handprint on Dean's shoulder tingled warmly, and he touched it through his jacket. Cas stepped in close, "And you think I am outmatched by one pagan demigod?"

Dean was crippled in that gaze. He swallowed hard, "Apparently not...?" his voice cracked nervously as Cas stood close, his burning eyes so persistent.

_He is fucking sexy._

_What! Dude, it is so not the time -_

_You could just lean in and kiss him. He wouldn't even hurt you... I don't think... It would be the _least_ weird thing to happen in this town._

_This is not the time, Dean!_

The panic in his own mind made him stumble back from the Angel a little. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down at his shoes, "I uh... didn't mean..."

Cas' eyes gave no indication of backing down even as Dean started the stuttered, lame attempt at an apology.

"Dude," he looked up into Cas' expectant face, "you really have issues with your masculinity." He laughed weakly to show it was a joke, but Cas' face remained impassive.

In that moment, Cas was in total control. And Dean knew it. They both did.

Dean stood silently, chastened, until Castiel decided he had forgiven him.

It was several, very long, very tense moments.

Then Cas seemed to shrug back into his more familiar, unassuming stance, and Dean could feel himself relax a little. Some part of his brain mourning the loss of such intensity. But he ignored that as best he could.

The majority of the walk home was silent. The man and Angel walked shoulder to shoulder all of the way to the motel, Dean's hand brushing against Castiel's a number of times, sending a spark shooting from his fingertips straight up to his heart.

He would have said he was sorry, but he wasn't. And Cas didn't pull away, so neither did Dean.

Once back at the motel they gathered the things needed to perform their spell. Dean was ill at ease when he called Sam, repeatedly, and he did not pick up. He hoped his brother hadn't let his blind-spot for Diner Girl get him into trouble...

* * *

><p><strong>I am not a student of Greek Mythology by any means, so a lot of this information is stolen straight from that wonderful educational tool, the internet.<strong>


	10. Role Reversal

**Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay! Thank you guys so much for the reviews, favorites, and the subscriptions - Oh my! They really make my day. Please be lenient with any misspellings or similar weirdness in the following chapter. I'd been putting off posting for too long. I've got the "it's not finished yet" disease. Compound that with being busy, and I'm lucky anything gets posted _ever_.**

**So again, thanks for the support.**

**You guys are damn sexy. Granted, I've never seen you... but I can tell by the way you type. Sexy, sexy readers.**

* * *

><p>Four hours of Dean pacing in the motel and fretting like a PTA mom whose kid didn't call after her girlscout meeting, and Castiel was starting to sigh audibly with irritation.<p>

Castiel found said fretting rather bothersome, but he was as patient as his Angelic constitution would allow. He had a unique understanding of how much Sam meant to Dean, that stemmed from his unique understanding of Dean as a person. While Castiel did want to be able to use his _mojo_ as Dean called it to locate Sam, the sigils on his ribcage kept him hidden even in this small town.

Dean had been out driving (a near-death experience in and of itself) looking for his brother. He'd been to the diner to subtly confront the less than diabolical looking Diner Girl and _that_ had proved fruitless. He had been to every crack and corner of this little town - no Sam. In short, they had looked everywhere.

After Dean had yelled at Castiel, demanding roughly that he _be useful, _the angel had disappeared before Dean's eyes. There was a split-second after Castiel vanished with a puff of air from invisible wings, that Dean utterly panicked.

Dean had insulted the only person who would stand by him, who would put up with him while he went crazy over Sam, lashing out at everyone nearby. And for a fraction of a moment, Dean thought Cas hadn't gone looking for Sam, but had left altogether. Finally had it. In that moment of panic, Dean doubted Castiel. He doubted the angel would return.

But Castiel was as reliable as ever. He showed up mere minutes later, his face impassive, but the expression was forced. He spoke to Dean with that flat all-business tone to his voice that did the opposite of what its intent was, and shined a spotlight on his utter irritation.

He informed Dean that he had searched the entire town, and either Sam was making himself scarce or he was forcibly being hidden, as Castiel did not see him.

"Where the Hell did he go...?" Dean muttered, all but panicking, running a hand through his hair.

* * *

><p>Sam snuck out from the shadows of the alley and around the corner, lip bruised, black eye blossoming, but otherwise no worse for wear. For such a big guy, he always had been good at disappearing.<p>

After the punches he'd exchanged with a few of the rowdier locals, he knew the cops were looking for him. He couldn't say _why_ he'd bothered rolling and scrapping on the street with these random guys, other than to say that he just _wanted_ to. He was looking for a fight. For no reason in particular.

And not to hurt anyone.

Just to get it out of his system. Because suddenly, while he was sitting in his familiar little diner booth, the desire had struck him - base, and uncomplicated. And he had no reason not to fulfill that desire. Suddenly he couldn't think of a single damn reason good enough not to do _anything_ he wanted.

A warm wave of relief washed over him, dripping down from the tip of his skull, rolling slowly down his spine like honey. And when it settled blissfully inside him, he finally just didn't give a crap. About anything. It was a welsome change of pace. He smiled at nothing in particular.

A little voice in his rational brain told him he was being poisoned. Hexed by Dionysus' great-great-great-grandchild. He eyed the straw in his cola suspiciously, knowing they'd both drank from it. _That's probably how she did it_, he thought calmly, with a nod. Then he shrugged and just kept drinking. _Already hexed anyway. Waste not want not!_

Sam was feeling loose and light and pleased with himself in no time. As much a slave to his whims as everyone else in this town - and loving it. He drank. He fought. He told everyone he saw exactly what he thought of them. He acted a lot like Dean... he laughed at the thought.

He'd been careful to hide from his brother and Castiel, knowing that as soon as they got their hands on him his fun would be over.

But there was still one more thing that he wanted. And he had to do something about it, _now_.

Sam skulked around the corner, staring into the diner from across the street.

There she was.

Pretty as ever. And as poisonous.

His legs carried him across the street with determination that could not be deterred by anything. He swung open the door and stalked through the restaurant and right up behind her.

She was just setting down some plates when she noticed her customers staring straight past her, looking at something behind her with questioning eyes. She turned, jumping to see Sam, very much encroaching on her personal space, towering over her.

"Oh!" she gave a surprised laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear nervously. "It's you. What're you-"

Sam wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her hard against his body instantly; one hand on her face as he leaned down and kissed her with everything he had.

After a moment of shock, she kissed him back. With gusto.

But the chorus of giggles and awkward clearing of throats around the diner yanked Diner Girl from her romance novel moment and back into reality. She pulled away, blushing red and staring at Sam with wide eyes.

He stared back, in fact he seemed to be undressing her with his eyes. Very blatantly. It did nothing to subdue the burning flush of her cheeks.

"Um... ok..." she breathed shakily, shifting awkwardly as if he really could see her naked.

Sam didn't say anything at first. He simply continued staring at her, and she fidgeted under the his piercingly focused eyes. Even the voice of the short-order cook didn't snap him out of it. He was solely intent on taking in the sight of her.

"You ok?" the cook yelled to Diner Girl, glaring over at them suspiciously.

"Uh..." she surveyed Sam, visibly weighing her options. "Yeah," she finally answered, as if she wasn't quite sure. "Yeah, I'm alright. It's fine."

The cook didn't look convinced, he picked up the phone and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Sam leaned in to kiss her again, and the look of lazy surprise on his face when she put her hand to his chest and stopped him with a, "woah, woah, woah" was enough to get her eyebrow quirking.

"I shouldn't like you, but I do," he admitted with a low rasp.

"Thanks...?" she said, unsure, but blushing just the same. She decided to take it as a compliment. Her eyes darted around at the many patrons of the restaurant staring at them.

"You're pretty," he stated with an intoxicated smile. Her blush deepened. "And you're so smart. And funny..." He was running his hands through her hair and inching closer and closer and he could tell by her expression she was just shy of not having the fortitude to push him away. But he was swaying on his feet, like he was drunk. And his sentences weren't progressing past three words. It was pretty clear to everyone he wasn't in prime condition.

She almost swayed into his arms at the countless compliments, which sounded so sincere even through the haze - and then the thought seemed to strike her and she went ram-rod straight. "Oh no..." she looked at him with wide eyes, "it got you..."

Sam paused, leaning back to look at her in confusion. "I thought you were _it_..."

She quirked her head to the side, confused.

"Either you're a great liar, or... you're innocent," he smiled so big at her. He pulled her into his arms again even though she went a little stiff from the awkwardness, and she turned her face so he couldn't kiss her.

He looked at her in the eyes and said, deathly serious, "I really want you."

She stared back, and he saw something in her expression harden. She worked free from his hold and looked right back at him. Her words were dripping with sarcasm but Sam seemed to ignore it. "Wow... Classy."

The waitress was saved from any more bizarred advances from her gigantic and pushy (albeit handsome) suitor when the sheriff walked in. His stance was that of a usually serious man up to his ears in ridiculousness, and taking it one task at a time.

His eyes went straight to Sam.

"_Ah_," he said knowingly, letting his thumbs rest in his belt. "You, _again_," the cop addressed Sam casually. He didn't seem at all surprised to find Sam at the root of a disturbance of the peace. He'd been there to break up Sam's scuffles earlier, and had too many other things to worry about to bother with him and his minor shenanigans. But now, it was his third strike in under four hours.

Sam didn't seem surprised to see the sheriff either. "_You_ again," he parroted.

"Alright, come on, Romeo," the cop motioned for Sam to go with him. The guy was clearly exhausted, and though Sam did want to stay with Diner Girl, he also didn't want to make a tired man's day any longer than it needed to be. Sam could tell he was a good guy - rough around the edges, but honest.

He waved goodbye dizzily at Diner Girl, smiling like a little kid leaving a playdate, and headed towards the cop's patrol car.

"Can I drive?"

Sam asked excitedly as the cop walked him to the vehicle. He was met with a resounding _No_.

"Why does no one let me drive?" Sam griped with frustration.


	11. The Human Lie Detector

The Human Lie Detector.

Dean's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when there was a knock at the door. He pulled his gun to the ready and ran to the door praying it would be Sam, looking through the peephole.

Castiel's head tilted in curiosity when Dean shot him an odd expression before stowing his gun in the back of his pants and opening the door.

When Dean opened the door the sheriff was standing there, looking utterly unamused, one hand gripping tightly at the bicep of a goofy-smile-wearing Sam Winchester.

"This belong to you?" the sheriff questioned dryly, already knowing the answer.

"Uh, yes sir. What... happened?" Dean asked cautiously, trying to communicate with Sam through eyes alone. Unfortunately his brother was far too occupied with his bag of Fritos to do anything but smile back vapidly.

"I'd say he caught a case of the stupid. Appears to be an epidemic," the sheriff stated unfazed, and ushered Sam inside.

Sam passed by Dean, passed by Cas with an upbeat _Hey Cas!_ and immediately headed toward the mini-fridge and started rooting around.

The Sheriff took notice of Castiel, examining him with that long-time policeman's look of, _there's somethin' off about you_. Cas merely stared back, his stoic confidence evident, and apparently something the sheriff could appreciate. He left Cas be and instead turned to Dean, "I thought you FBI guys were all tight-asses." The sheriff turned his gaze to Sam, watching critically as the gigantic man rooted around in the tiny fridge. He no doubt noted Sam's expression - vacant yet somehow still lending itself to amusement. He gave a tired roll of his eyes and concluded, "Guess I was wrong."

He raised his eyebrows and turned on his heel to leave. Sam saluted him absently, grinning at him.

"Thank you, Sheriff," Dean said, "won't happen again."

"Yeah, yeah..." the sheriff gave a careless, dismissive wave of his hand.

Dean closed and deadbolted the door behind him. He turned to Sam with sharp eyes, "Where the Hell have you been?"

"Oh you know. Here. There. A little bit in between," Sam laughed having cracked himself up.

Cas' head tilted to the side as he observed Sam with growing concern.

"Are you high?" Dean demanded angrily. "Of course you are, everybody is. Damn it Sam! You got hit. You're cursed, just like everybody else in this friggin' town." He shook his head in frustration, "You must have let her know you were on to her..." Dean scrambled over to Sam, leaning down in front of him. "Sam, listen to me-"

"Yep," Sam looked at him with glazed-over eyes that _tried_ to focus on Dean.

"Tell me what happened. Cas and I went by the diner not long ago, we saw the girl still there. She got ya, right?"

Sam snorted as he chuckled - a grown man, _snort-laughing_. Cas literally took a step back. Dean looked over at him as if to ask _You heard that right?_ Sam stuffed an oversized bite from a leftover sandwich into his mouth, and joked a muffled, "Oh, she got to me alright."

Dean rolled his eyes. _Great..._

* * *

><p>Dean and Cas conferred on the task at hand, and despite having one eye on Sam throughout the conversation, were able to quickly come to the conclusion that they would simply have to kidnap Diner Girl when she left after her shift. Sam protested that if either of them hurt her he'd kill them. Castiel had immediately offered to make Sam "less of a problem". Dean assumed that this meant he would put him into a restful sleep for awhile. But Dean, for whatever reason, didn't want to do that. Originally, he felt it wouldn't be right to Sam. Or that Sam might somehow still be helpful, if they could get him to explain how the DemiGod got her hooks into him.<p>

But after twenty minutes of stilted, chaotic conversation, Dean was wishing he'd taken Cas up on the offer.

Sam was like a little kid on a sugar high - only this little kid knows all your deepest darkest secrets and has boundary issues.

Dean had sent Castiel to keep an eye on the waitress while he reeled in his brother. It had been mere minutes once Sam returned before he started lazily ripping Dean and Cas' worlds apart with his hyper-intuitive emotion reading. He'd started telling them things about themselves that neither of them wanted to know. Or rather, that neither of them wanted to hear out loud.

And Dean was instantly panicking knowing at any second Sam would would drop the A-bomb of truths and tell Cas that Dean was... Dean was...

_In love with Cas._

_Yeah_...

_Wait, are we actually agreeing on this?_

_Shut up._

Dean may have come to terms with being head over heels with the Sheldon Cooper of Heaven, but he was nowhere near ready for anyone else to know that. Least of all, the angel himself.

He didn't feel like getting smote today.

So he gave Cas the first shift watching Diner Girl. And the fact that Cas accepted the mission all too willingly told Dean that Cas was just as extremely uncomfortable with Sam's new receptiveness. Especially after Sam had dropped a hand heavily on Cas' shoulder and expressed that he too knew all about being angry at your father. Cas' eyes flared and Dean jumped in to give Cas an excuse to leave before he mojo'd Sam into a volcano or something.

Dean would have just left Sam there alone and gone with Castiel, which is frankly where he'd rather be, but Sam had made it all too clear that if he were left alone he would get bored and wreak havoc. So Dean decided to let Cas handle Diner Girl alone. He could more than handle it.

As soon as Castiel was gone, Sam just wouldn't shut up. It was an endless inundation of _I can see how you feel Dean, _and_ I love you too, Dean _and_ You are so emotionally stunted Dean, _and _You're such a softy Dean_ and_ Let me have more snacks Dean._ But when Sam started talking about love, Dean freaked.

"Sam, just because you're high doesn't mean you get what's going on inside my head so shut up!"

"Of course I get it! I know-"

"You don't know crap!"

"I know you want to be in love."

The way he said it, so calm, so certain, had Dean at a loss for words. That wasn't what he was expecting Sam to say. Dean simply stood there, looking away from Sam, torn between shoving a sock in his brother's mouth and asking him to go ahead and say it, tell him how he really felt.

Might be easier that way.

But as it turned out, he didn't have to ask. Sam couldn't have been stopped, probably not even by the sock. He continued confidently, "You're terrified because you thought you'd be able to have that love with Lisa, but as hard as you tried, you just didn't. Once you were with her you realized what you felt was just an illusion. Because it wasn't... _enough_. And now you're afraid that it never will be. Maybe cause of this job. Maybe it was your fault. Maybe _you_ weren't enough. You think you're damaged. And this thing you're so desperate to feel, you're afraid maybe you never will. Maybe it's just never gonna happen for you. Or, the most terrifying possibility, maybe love isn't real. Because after all those dreams of civilian life with a beautiful woman and a boy you can call your son, the real thing was a let down. That life was a let down. You didn't fit there. And you feel like an asshole for it. Like you're a freak. Cause you should've been happy. But you weren't. Maybe you loved Lisa. But it wasn't the cosmic, be and and end all, lives forever kind of love you secretly wished you were capable of."

Sam pried open a package of cookies and chewed thoughtfully, mulling it all over, while Dean stood steaming and paralyzed. Finally Sam gave an ironic little laugh, "The _weirdest_ part, is that it's obvious you're capable. You're just being too much of a jackass to let it happen."

There was a moment of deafening silence where Dean's entire construct of denial, which held up the pillars of his survival in this world, came crumbling down, and he stared at the man responsible, as he licked the frosting out of the middle of an oreo.

Just like that, it was all spelled out. And Dean felt naked and betrayed and inexplicably hurt.

When he punched Sam in the face the man fell clumsily off his chair, the two halves of the oreo popping into he air. Sam thudded onto the floor, and Dean stood there wide-eyed looking at his handiwork, not sure when he'd made the decision to hit him.

"Ow!" Sam yelled looking at Dean with an unrestrained _what the fuck?_ expression.

Dean leaned over, getting in his brother's face, "Now you listen to me... Just because you _think_ you _know_ this stuff does not mean you get to vomit it all over people! You do that to me again I swear I will pop you in the face so hard you won't wake up for a week. People aren't supposed to know this crap about each other! You aren't supposed to have to hear this crap about yourself!"

Dean stopped short, seeming to realize that he'd said more than he meant to.

Sam simply looked at Dean quizzically and shook his head. "It must be really hard sifting through all that denial all the time."

Dean's face blushed red and his hands clenched, he was on the verge of proving his point with that promised pop to the face.

"This anger problem, this is what comes from shoving all that stuff down without dealing with it. I've been telling you. Again and again I said it." He shook his head, an obvious _I told you so_ look plastered all over his face. "You're like a volcano... like a little kid's science project," Sam laughed. "Mount Dean! I just added some vinegar to your baking soda, and _pew-shhh_!" Sam made fake explosion sounds and Dean just couldn't take any more.

"That's it..." He grabbed his coat and yelled more than prayed for Cas, but the angel appeared neraly immediately.

"Changing of the guard buddy, you're up with the idiot. I'll go watch Diner Girl." He clapped his hand on Cas' shoulder as the angel's eyes pleaded with Dean not to leave him with Sam. Dean was halfway out the door when he heard his brother's voice-

"Yeah, go get 'em buddy!" Sam mocked from where he was now lying under the table, relaxed and drunk.

Dean froze, flushed red and stormed out. He knew leaving Sam alone with Cas was probably a questionable idea, but it would be more dangerous for Sam if Dean stayed in there himself. He'd already punched the guy once. Dean hoped Cas would tune Sam out if he got too personal, but rationally he knew Cas would probably be tempted to silence Sam by any means necessary once he struck the first nerve.

It was a blissfully honesty-free two hours before Dean got the _rescue me_ phone call from Castiel. Frankly, given Cas' short supply of patience with stupidity Dean was impressed he lasted that long. But still, there was something in his voice. He sounded off somehow. Dean assumed Sam had cut him down to the bone.

Dean had been stationed outside the diner, watching Diner Girl when he got the call. As he pulled away down the street, he began imagining what Sam might be saying to Cas, the things his brother might know about his angel now that even he didn't know... In a way, Dean was jealous. He wished he could see inside Castiel's head, just once; know him better than anyone.

When Castiel called Dean figured Diner Girl would hold - she'd been going about her regular work schedule, maybe to maximize the number of people she came in contact with, and thus, maximizing number of victims. Maybe to seem normal. Either way, Dean doubted she would up and change her gameplan now.

Dean was anxious to get back anyway. Part of him was terrified that Sam had told Cas the truth about his little secret. And Dean could not have that.

_Why not? You know how you feel jackass. Just tell Cas the truth. Or even better, let Sam do it so you don't have to._

_Way to man-up Dean._

Dean shook his head. He'd come to terms with his own feelings, sure. But he wasn't gonna put that on Cas. Poor Cas, who was already such an outcast. Dean didn't want to do anything else to further estrange him from Heaven, or to ruin their perpetually tense friendship. And admitting the depths of his feelings for the angel, and then having Cas say _Dean, you are an abomination to Heaven_. Or_ Dean, I am incapable of reciprocating_. Or even, _Dean, I don't understand... you're gay?_ Any of that would kill him. He'd never felt quite like this before, despite his flings in the past. But as painful as things were for Dean now, in this limbo, they were both better off being oblivious than having the truth come out and everything being ruined.

That would be the absolute worst. He would not let that happen.

As Dean pulled into the motel's parking lot, he was resolved to shut up about it. It was his cross to bear, and it wasn't torturing him as of yet so he could handle this limbo for the time being.

Dean opened the door and stepped into the motel room and before he could even process what he was seeing, a fist collided with his face, and it was lights out.

* * *

><p>Just when Dean was certain life couldn't get any weirder...<p>

There he was standing in the motel room with Sam drunkenly aiming his own gun at him and Castiel in the corner, trapped in a ring of Holy Fire and looking rather distraught about it.

_Distraught looks good on him..._

_Now? Really? Shut up! _

Dean leveled and irritated and exhausted look at his brother, "Sam... what the Hell is going on?"

"I'm executing a friggin' brilliant plan, that's what's going on." He rolled his eyes and wavered on his feet. When he looked at Dean again, he winced as he took in the bruise darkening at his eye. "For the record though, I did _not_ mean to knock you out." His eyes were sincere, if not completely glazed over. And then, suddenly, he broke into a ridiculous grin, barely holding in a laugh. "You went down _hard_." He laughed, slapping his hand on his knee.

Dean's face was unamused, his jaw set as if carved in stone. He glanced at Castiel who was looking extremely impatient, and just this side of Heavenly wrathful about it all.

"How did he manage to get you in there?" Dean asked Castiel roughly, more than a little irritated by Castiel's inability not to see such a hoodwink coming from a mile away.

"I overestimated his cognitive impairment," Cas said slow and even, leaving no room for doubt that he was livid.

Dean shook his head, "This is ridiculous." He moved toward his duffel to get something to help put out the fire. He didn't expect Sam to re-cock the gun at him with such a sense of urgency. Dean's movement stopped short, "Alright, stop it," he demanded, frustrated.

Sam simply stayed still and gave a mirthless, "Nope."

"Sam what is this even about?"

"You're right," Sam nodded, "let's just get right to it." Sam took a deep breath, collected his thoughts and said, "No one's going anywhere, no one's leaving this room alive...

unless you kiss Castiel."

Silence. Utter, ear-ringing, silence. It was as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Dean felt his stomach flip and his face blush immediately, his throat went dry and empty of any response, his eyes went wide. He simply stared at his brother and, very pointedly, did _not_ look at Castiel. He even turned away from him a little. He was about to proffer some feigned shock and confusion but Sam beat him to words.

"Right on the face," Sam clarified after the minute or so of baffled silence.

It was quiet again, oppressively so - uncomfortable in every way.

And then, of course, in true Dean fashion, there was an uproar. He screamed like a man truly at the end of his rope, "What the Hell is wrong with you! You don't just ask a man to kiss another man on the face! You don't wave a gun around at your_ own brother_ and demand two guys to -to - to - _you know_! You're a friggin' dick and I don't know what you're trying to do here, but -"

"Dean!" Sam interrupted, taking a step forward and leveling the gun with Dean's face, "I'm not asking. This isn't an argument. You're gonna do this, or else."

"Sam, are you insane? I'm not gonna _kiss_ him."

"Do it, or I'll shoot ya."

"You're not gonna shoot me -"

A shot rang out, grazing Dean's shoulder. He clutched the now-bleeding but mostly harmless bullet scrape, staring up at his brother with wide eyes. "Jesus Sam..."

Sam just shrugged.

"You could've killed me!"

"Still might." He pointed the gun at Dean's head and Dean put his hands up placatingly, one of them glistening with red.

"Sam, this is the curse talking. You don't actually _want_ -"

"You know my demands. Now go on!"

Dean didn't move. He had that familiar stubborn look, and Sam knew he would take the bullet rather than loose his pride. But he was prepared for the denial, for the utter rejection of his demand. Of course he was ready, who knew Dean better than him?

Sam shrugged as if to say, _too bad_. He bent down, picking up the jug of Holy Oil that was sitting on the floor just behind him and took a step towards Castiel, pulling Dean's lighter out of his own pocket. "Sorry Cas," Sam offered, moving as if he were preparing to throw the Holy Oil onto the angel.

Cas looked baffled momentarily but immediately on guard. He backed up as much as he could, fists clenching, nostrils flaring and jaw set into a hard line.

"Woah, woah - what're you doing!" Dean stepped forward, panic evident on his face.

"I told you Dean! No one leaves here alive unless my demand is met! I will fry him up like Holy bacon!" Sam was quite proud of this performance if he did say so himself. Dean looked absolutely mortified, as if he was worried Sam was serious. Sam was just pleased it seemed Dean didn't see right through the deception.

In the back of Sam's mind he tried to remind himself to tell Dean later that he was, in fact, bluffing.

Dean was utterly shocked - Sam seemed sickeningly sincere. Cas' eyes shot to Dean's, hyper-focused in that moment, standing as if ready for a fight. He was going to follow Dean's lead, live or die by his next words. Dean straightened up his back, already knowing even through his stubbornness what his decision would be.

His jaw flexed in anger and embarrassment. "Fine," he said stiffly. Castiel's eyes burned into him and Dean tried not to notice it, or how big and blue they shined in the firelight.

Dean hoped that maybe he could trick Sam somehow, since the guy was essentially a burn-out at this point. "Just let him out of the fire and I'll do it."

"Yeah right, Dean. I'm cursed, I'm not an idiot!" He shook his head, "No, you get _in_."

"I can't-"

"You're human, jackass, you'll be fine. Just try not to stand in it, genius."

"You're a dick!"

"Dean, I'm only asking one more time. Get in that ring of fire, and kiss that Angel of the Lord!"

And something in his slightly glazed-over eyes and relaxed hold on the gun had Dean worried Sam was seriously not gonna give up until the demands were met.

"Fine! I'm going!" Dean headed slowly toward the fire, toward Castiel, as if he was walking the plank. "You are demented right now," he bit angrily at his brother.

Again, Sam just shrugged.

Dean got to the edge of the fire and looked at Castiel. The way his face was lit by the flames made him look...exquisite. His eyes were wide and nervous despite the strong set of his jaw. Dean swallowed hard, trying to work up the courage. Castiel glanced behind himself, checking how much room he had between himself and the holy fire before stepping back to give Dean room to join him.

Dean hopped over the flame easily, nearly toppling over but steadying himself just in time. Cas' hands had come up to catch him, but stopped just short of making contact.

The two were nearly pressed chest to chest, given that the circle was barely big enough for the both of them. Dean could feel the heat from the flames pressing at the backs of his legs.

Dean had thought his usual Cas-related heart palpitations were bad, but this was downright painful. He felt the thumping in every major artery in his body, and his hands shook despite his clenched fists. Cas' eyes slid to Dean's chest, resting there for an eternity before coming slowly back up to his eyes.

They were lost there, Cas and Dean. The fire, the gun-brandishing idiot, the motel, the sordid past... it all just kind of faded into black. And all that was left was a righteous man and a tarnished angel and the over-heated air between them. Everything else disappeared, unimportant.

"Let's _goooo_," Sam interrupted stupidly, causing Dean to jump a little. He cursed under his breath and Cas looked down at his shoes, a sudden blush on his cheeks.

"Sorry about this, Cas," Dean offered with a smile. It was attempt at his usual devil-may-care smirk, but it came out a nervous, unfamiliar thing.

Cas nodded curtly, keeping his game-face on.

They both looked at Sam briefly, and he waved the gun expectantly as if to ask what was taking so long.

Dean turned to Cas, catching his eyes for a split-second before having to look away. Those debilitating blue eyes, he felt like they were looking straight through him and he was desperate not to lose his nerve. He didn't meet the angel's eyes again as he leaned down, his heart in his throat and his breath stuck there too, and pressed his lips to Castiel's.

It was soft, barely a touch at all, as if they were afraid what true contact would do. It was innocent, in its stillness. But Dean's heart did summersaults in his body, rioting against his ribcage as his brain strained desperately to feel whether or not Cas was kissing him back. His brain panicked, trying to commit the sensation to memory.

Dean noticed Cas' lips were soft, but rough just the same. Kind of like the guy himself. Dean had never been so nervous to kiss anyone, not even on his first kiss ever. He'd been mostly excited then, an eager boy, but he was never worried - there was nothing really on the line. He never imagined kissing Castiel would feel so _right_...

That put everything on the line.

He pulled away to look into Cas' eyes, his own opening slowly, as if in a daze. He wanted to see if Castiel was having the same internal uproar. But Cas' eyes were downturned, hiding his emotion, until they darted nervously over to Sam.

_Right_, Dean remembered, _Sam..._

This kiss was just a necessity to keep his brother from killing them all. That was it. _It's not real_... Dean pulled away too quickly, pulling himself from the terrifying edge, not allowing himself to give in. He took a deep breath, not looking at Cas in the eyes. He tried desperately to fix the mask that was Dean Winchester in place before he spoke and really faced Sam and Cas.

He announced, in his best unaffected voice, "There. Done."

"..._Seriously_?" Sam asked loudly, making a ridiculous disappointed face. "That's _it_?"

Dean's nerves were fried, he just couldn't take anymore. His brother must have know how much this was killing him. He yelled back, "I did what you said Sam, now let him out of the fire! And put the friggin' gun down before you get somebody killed!"

"Oh come on Dean, kiss him for real!"

"Sam-"

"For God's sake, _just do it_!" Sam cried desperately.

"Sam, I can't-" Dean cut himself off.

"Kiss him for _real_!"

Dean started to answer, but any argument he may have had was cut off by a harsh grip on the back of his neck and the front of his shirt, whirling him around and pulling him down - to Castiel.

Their lips crashed together and while Dean was stunned-still at first, with Castiel's lips on his and the angel's fingers wound in the front of his flannel shirt, his hand gripping tight at the back of Dean's neck, skin to skin, it was too much for Dean to fight.

Before he knew what he was doing his fingers were tangled in Castiels hair, gripping roughly, his other hand clutching at Cas' waist.

The levee broke, and _finally_, Dean didn't fight it.

His hand gripped the back of Castiel's skull, wanting the angel's lips never to part from his own. Dean's hips leaned into Castiel's, and his lips and tongue assaulted the angel's mouth with the expertise of a practiced lover - but nothing about it was for show. Nothing about it was to prove to Castiel he was sexy, or to impress him. It was pure passion, the passion of a man in love.

The hand Cas had gripping Dean's shirt kept pulling and tugging, as if he couldn't get Dean close enough. Meanwhile his other hand roamed everywhere it could reach on Dean's body, as if he couldn't feel enough of Dean at once.

And it did roam _everywhere_.

Cas didn't do this kind of thing, well, _ever_. It was obvious he did not know first-kiss protocol. There are usually hesitations - _can I touch you there yet? Should I wait before I get carried away? How careful do I need to be?_

There was a natural progression to the thing, a build.

Castiel didn't have these boundaries. There was no build, it was a full assault from minute one. He didn't bother to consider social protocol, because he didn't know it. And that was a-ok with Dean. Because he'd never had someone kiss him so eagerly, that barely thirty seconds into the first kiss they had their hands grabbing all over him; that they rubbed _that_ hard into his back, or pulled so _rough_ at his shoulders and his waist, or that their fingers wrenched into his hair - _oh, wow_ - and gripped his ass - _ Oh fuck_ - and down over his thigh - _Oh fuck fuck fuck_...

Dean groaned into Cas' mouth and felt Cas clutch at the thigh of his jeans in response.

Across the room, forgotten Sam observed calmly, utterly unaffected, very nearly disinterested all together. He took a deep, relieved breath. "_Fiiiiinally_!" He threw the gun down onto Dean's bed before collapsing into his own.

Cas and Dean parted at the sound of Sam's voice, snapping them back into reality. Their lips red and wet, their breath coming fast, they looked over at Sam, now softly snoring on the bed. Obviously, they'd forgotten all about him.

They looked at each other. There was a silent moment where they simply examined their effect on each other in wonder - flushed cheeks, swollen lips, darkened eyes...

Feeling the weight of the silence suddenly, Dean joked, his voice like sandpaper, "Crisis averted?" But he didn't let go of Cas. "You learn that from the Pizza Man?" he joked again, reflexively.

Cas didn't let go of Dean either. It didn't go unnoticed. "No," he answered awkwardly, "I just... did it." Cas frowned, "Some sort of... instinct?" he asked, guessing.

Dean smiled. He was shocked to see Cas smile back. Like a full, bright, _so happy I could die_ grin. His already thumping heart gave a whirl and Cas looked at Dean's chest, placing his hand over Dean's heart. Dean sighed into that touch, leaning into Cas' palm like he had so wanted to before.

"Coffee?" Cas wondered, remembering Dean's former excuse for the thumping.

"Um..." _Dean, I know what you're thinking, do __not__ tell him the truth! You're gonna embarrass yourself. He'll know how much you... how much you..._

_Oh Fuck it._

Dean cleared his throat, looking down, "No, it's not the coffee. It's never been the coffee Cas. It's..." Dean's voice warbled despite his attempt to control it. He looked down at his shoes and let 'er rip, "It's you, actually." Dean peaked up through his lashes to see Cas, head tilted at him, questioningly. All of a sudden, Dean was desperate for him to know the truth, "_You_ make my heart do that."

At first Cas' expression was unreadable, and Dean thought maybe he didn't understand. But then Cas looked down to the floor, and tried to hide another smile.

Dean saw it. He may have never been so relieved.

And then Castiel turned his blue eyes on Dean's, fixing him from beneath dark lashes, something dark but humorous in his gaze. And Dean was immobilized under that stare, entirely at Castiel's mercy as the angel ran his palms slowly up Dean's torso, smirking as Dean let out a sudden shaky breath. He slipped one hand over Dean's jaw, pulling him toward his body. And they both knew that when their lips met this time, slow and wet and deep, that it was entirely by choice.

It was a long kiss, nearly obscene with the accompanying exploratory groping and unpracticed touching of lips and lazy open-mouthed playing of tongues.

It was new and right and ultimately difficult to stop once ignited.

And Sam slept through the whole thing.

Thank God.

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><p><strong>Thank god indeed!<strong>

**I hope you liked this chapter. I had fun writing it. I was in a rush to get it posted so I hope you can excuse any errors or bizarre jumps. I give a heartfelt "whoops..." to any that you find.**


	12. The Postmoment Moment

**This is sort of a short chapter just to hold us over since I haven't posted in what feels like a long time. Sorry for the delay! (I feel like I'm saying that a lot lately... that and, "please excuse any mistakes"...) Please excuse any mistakes. (Did you feel that? Deja vu, or a shift in the Matrix?)**

**Thank you so much for the reviews, you guys make me feel special - like that tiger with the tie-dyed stripes... ****Or, you know... something like that. But sincerely, thanks so much.**

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><p>The Post-"Moment" Moment.<p>

Dean was the one to put out the fire.

Literally.

It was over an hour, in that ring of holy fire with Castiel, the backs of his legs getting hotter and hotter, and not in the same way as the rest of his body. He came up for air, a seemingly unstoppable Castiel nipping at his lips, very nearly tempting him back despite his gasping.

_Who needs air? Screw air..._

Unfortunately the instinct not to suffocate was stronger than his ability to keep their lips and tongues tangled.

He broke away with a slightly embarrassing gasp and leaned back his head, rescuing his mouth from Castiel's pursuit, and finally took in the air he so desperately needed. Dean opened his eyes lazily as Cas started trailing his lips down Dean's neck in a hungry experiment, just brushing skin to skin at first, and then kissing, and then his curiosity peaking, and adding pressure - sucking Dean's skin and scraping his teeth against the area.

Dean's hand clutched in Cas' hair as he stared up at the dingy, water-stained ceiling, barely comprehending how they'd come to this yet still so relieved they had. His eyes burned from the heat and smoke of the ring of flames surrounding them -

and that's when his brain kicked back in.

The rational part of him screamed that he'd gotten way off track, that they still had work to do. It reminded him that Cas was actually still somewhat endangered, given his current location.

_I'm glad we're sucking face and all, but uh... maybe we put out this Holy fire and capture the big bad monster before we get to third base...?_

Dean's brow furrowed. He really didn't want to stop. Really. The sheer volume of relief coursing in his veins, lacing the pleasure of being touched with the joy of being touched by someone he actually cared about, was making him shaky and warm all over.

But Dean knew what had to be done. _Damn it._ It was one of the few times Dean could remember that stark rationality won over a base desire this strong.

Ultimately he loosened his grip on Cas' hair, a little shocked at himself once he realized how hard he'd been clutching the guy, fingers gripping in his hair, keeping the angel's lips firmly sealed to his throat.

It was oddly desperate for him. He wasn't usually someone who got carried away - in fact he prided himself on being the one who got others carried away. it was a strange reversal, but he couldn't think too much about it right then.

He was also surprised by the pang of utter regret he felt when Cas' lips left his skin. But it convinced him all the more that they had to stop, they _needed_ to stop. Now.

He leaned down and shared one last longing kiss with Castiel, in which the angel wrapped his arms tightly, almost too tight, around Dean's waist, hands gripping bruisingly tight at Dean's hips, his thumbs dipping into the hollow of his hipbones so hard that Dean nearly winced. He bit back the urge to groan into Castiel's mouth.

It was a kiss that was vastly different from all the others (a fact which amazed Castiel to no end) in that it was laced with a feeling of longing that was more complex and emotional than the strictly passionate physical frenzy they'd been indulging in. It hinted at something deeper, something yet to come - something that would not, could not, be expressed right now.

But it also said _The End_ in a way, putting a period on the end of their escape from reality. With that last kiss, Cas knew playtime was over. And frankly, he was afraid to stop. He felt the tendrils of doubt and fear already creeping in, that if they stopped, they might not be able to start again. He was terrified that now that he'd felt this, he would need it again, and there wouldn't be another situation forcing them together so effectively.

His hands tightened on Dean's hips, and he could feel the man wince, but he couldn't let go. He wanted to never let go.

But he didn't have much choice. Dean pulled back and Castiel let him.

And then Dean gave him a lazy wink and a sinful smirk before hopping out of the fire and setting to putting it out - which proved more difficult than he'd anticipated.

Apparently, Holy Oil burns hell-fire hot.

When the fire was out, Cas leant down and pressed two fingers to the carpet, removing the charred, circular evidence of the trap that lead them to their fist kiss.

"Thanks," Dean smiled.

Cas nodded curtly, and smiled back.

Once Cas was freed, he and Dean attempted to focus on the case. It was proving difficult because they were on each other's minds now, more than ever. And they didn't say anything, but the staring was unabashed. Not even thinly coy. Just blatant. And Dean found himself smiling at Cas when he would turn mid-sentence to find the angel standing a little closer than he had been a moment before, as if physically incapable of keeping his distance, and gazing at Dean with dark eyes, like he was imagining their time in the holy fire had never ended.

It gave Dean a powerful kind of satisfaction, addictive and bizarrely strong, to see the the effect he had on Cas, how he could wind him up so.

Dean realized that they were staring again, gravitating toward each other, his heart thumping hard in his chest, when they were interrupted by a heavy shifting accompanied by a moose-like groan coming from the bed. Cas and Dean looked away from each other and toward the tallest Winchester, who was displacing the cheap duvet, stretching like a lazy labrador.

Dean moved slowly to the end of the bed, anger settling on his face so quickly. "Morning Sam," he greeted roughly, towering over his brother.

Sure, he was glad to have finally gotten somewhere with Cas, but that didn't mean Sam was off the hook - Dean was pissed.

"Hey," Sam responded groggily, rubbing his eye. He looked back and forth between Cas and Dean and it all came back to him. "Oh, hey - so, how'd it go? You guys gay yet?"

Dean turned beet red, fuming. Cas simply tilted his head.

"I guess you were gay to begin with," Sam muttered. "You didn't do it with me in the room, did you?"

"Alright listen jackass, if I have to stand one more day of you like this, I swear to God I'll kill you myself."

"_That's_ a lie," Sam said easily, looking relaxed and refreshed after his little catnap.

His ease had Dean's blood boiling, "I'm at the end of my rope with this case and I will beat the crap out of you. Now tell me if that's a lie."

Sam squinted at him for a long moment, "Mm, no..."

"We are going to kidnap Diner Girl, bring her here, and perform the ritual, and if that doesn't work, or she fights us... you know what we have to do. So I need to know that you're on board here."

"No, I'm _not_ on board! It's not her! And even if it was, you're not gonna kill her Dean-"

"Sam-"

"Over my dead body! It's not her Dean, I'm telling you! I know it! And I had a good reason too - I just... forgot..." Sam scratched his head, looking around the room while he tried to remember the reason he was so certain of her innocence.

"Sam, it could still be her. All evidence points in her direction so I'm sorry, but we're not gonna be looking the other way on this just because you like the way she looks in her uniform!"

"Hey! It's not like that!"

"Of course it's not...look who I'm talking to." Dean sighed heavily. "Either we're gonna tie you up in this room, or you're coming with us."

Sam pouted for a moment, weighing his options before giving a bratty, "Fine."

"_Fine_. Let's go," Dean motioned for him to hurry up so they could get the show on the road. Sam got up, but headed in the wrong direction. "Where the Hell are you going? I thought I made this pretty clear. We're leaving-"

"Ok, well can I at least pee in peace, before we go kidnap the girl of my dreams?"

Dean motioned to the bathroom, giving Sam the go ahead.

Sam stomped in and slammed the door behind him.

In the wake of the riot that was Sam, Dean and Cas were feeling rather weary. The room was all the more quiet now, with the tallest Winchester no longer in it and somehow it made the fact that they were both thinking about each other painfully obvious.

"You uh... ready to do this?" Dean asked, out of desperation to break the silence. Cas' eyes met his and Dean immediately remembered Cas' little dominance display in the park and corrected himself, "Of course you are. You can handle this."

Dean looked down at his boots a long moment, the flattery tasting strange in his mouth, sweet somehow. He could feel those eyes on him. When he looked up again he saw the ghost of a smile on Castiel's lips. That was when Dean realized he didn't really specify what he'd been talking about - the demigod, or _them_.

But he didn't bother saying anything else. All of a sudden the quiet was... comfortable. They smiled at each other.

Until Castiel's brow furrowed for a moment in intense concentration, before he looked at Dean with wide eyes, the expression stopping Dean cold. Suddenly, was a blinding flash of white light and Castiel was gone.

Dean's head swung this way and that, frantically looking for him, "Cas!"

"Dean, help!" Sam yelled from the bathroom.

Dean immediately ran toward Sam, storming in to see his brother doubled over. He rushed straight to him, noticing a moment too late, the angel banishing sigil drawn onto the mirror, still dripping red drops into the sink. If he'd hesitated only a moment before rushing up to Sam he might have seen it coming - Sam straightened up in a flash, knocking Dean's legs out from under him. Dean slammed down to the tile floor. Sam grabbed Dean roughly and slapped the cuffs on his wrists, maneuvering them around a pipe just before they clicked securely around his brother's skin.

Dean shook his head, trying to get his wits about him after the hard fall. He saw Sam, blurry, crouch down in front of him with a sympathetic furrow of his brow.

"Dean, I am really sorry," he said as if he truly meant it. "I _have_ to do this. I have to. Because I really like her. DemiGod or not - though, I think not..." he said, his eyes far away as if remembering his last interaction with her.

"Sam!" Dean interrupted his brother's reverie, pissed as all Hell. "You better let me out right now or I swear-"

"You know I'm not going to," Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean seethed, "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you..."

Sam straightened up and gave a high _whew_ and shook his head. "That's a loaded statement."

Dean didn't know what to say about that.

"Don't worry, I won't let her kill anyone," Sam assured with a dopey, lop-sided smile.

He walked out, despite Dean's screaming after him, and Dean could hear the cheap but heavy dresser scraping across the floor until it came to rest in front of the bathroom door, effectively trapping him into the tiny room even more thoroughly.

"Bye!" Sam yelled from the other side of the door, as if he were a kid leaving for school in the morning.

Dean could hear Sam's quick footsteps retreating and then the closing of the motel door. He took stock of his surroundings, his situation.

Dean's head thunked against the cold tile.

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><p><strong>I guess that wasn't that short...<strong>

**I hope to have the next one up sooner rather than later - I'm clacking away on the keyboard right now, getting to it! I swear!**

**I also happen to be eating an apple and lighting a candle... but don't let that convince you I'm not so on top of this! I am nothing if not a multi-tasker!**


	13. The Truth Hurts

**I told you it would be sooner than later! Bam! Check me out - two chapters in one week.**

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><p>The Truth Hurts.<p>

Dean attempted in vain to pry the pipe loose, and he had nothing to pick the cuffs with but it didn't stop his brain from working a thousand miles an hour to try and find a way out. Simple cuffs could not hold Dean Friggin' Winchester.

Right...

In truth, the metal of the cuffs was cold and hard, and the metal of the pipe, though slightly rusted and dripping, was ultimately even colder and harder. There was no strong-arming his way out of it.

He sat on the cold tile floor for at least a couple of hours, until morning.

By the time a sliver of dawn light was breaking in through the frosted plastic pane of the tiny bathroom window, Dean's wrists were red and raw from futile struggling and pulling in hopes that he could attempt to reach something to help him escape.

When he heard the flutter of wings, he was sprawled on the bathroom floor, trying to reach a forgotten bobby-pin. Castiel appeared above him, the expression on his face that of an adult who'd caught a child playing in glue, and felt kind of bad for the kid who'd managed to make a regrettable mess of themselves. Dean's felt his cheeks flush with warmth. Once again he was looking like a moron in front of the angel.

Castiel gave a heavy sigh and twitched two fingers towards Dean, who seemed as awed as ever when the cuffs simply popped open. He quickly scrambled to his feet.

The two stood there awkwardly in the tiny little bathroom.

Without the force of the Holy Fire keeping them together they both felt unsettled about sharing the limited space of the claustrophobic room, all of the wildfire of their previous encounter having left behind an uncomfortable burn. Neither could look each other in the eye.

"You ok?" Dean asked, his voice deeper and gruffer as if to compensate for his discomfort.

Cas nodded, looking around, shifting his weight.

"Good," Dean nodded, "let's go kick his ass."

Cas gave a small smirk. He nodded and moved to press two fingers to Dean's forehead, but stopped just before touching him. He noticed with a grin that Dean had his eyes squeezed closed as if he were preparing to get punched in the face or something.

When Dean didn't feel the expected fingers to the forehead and following lurch of his stomach, he peeked one eye open. He saw Cas smiling at him with amusement that almost leant itself to fascination, and Dean immediately blushed and tried to relax his face, utterly embarrassed.

Cas' hand moved toward him again, but this time four fingertips brushed against his cheek, sliding down to his neck, where Castiel's palm flattened to his skin. Dean's breath caught in his chest. The angel's hand wrapped around until his fingers were holding the back of Dean's neck, his thumb brushing the man's cheek.

And then finally, the Dean felt the feeling of the floor dropping out beneath him. But somehow the lurch in his stomach was less uncomfortable than usual. The entire experience, which only lasted but a split-second, was somehow less uncomfortable, more like being light-headed and less like being dripped through the center of the earth only to be ripped out the other side.

They landed on the sidewalk just down the street from the diner, in a little nook between buildings where no one would have seen them suddenly appear. It was just barely dawn.

Dean looked around, noting that his body wasn't in the instinctive tense panic that usually accompanied Cas zapping him from one place to another. He stretched a little, smiling at his good luck, "That was a lot easier than usual."

Cas simply stood there and looked at him, hint of a smile on his face. "The experience is significantly less uncomfortable once the human has given themselves completely over to trust," Cas said off-handed as he began to walk away.

Something in the statement struck Dean still as stone. Suddenly Dean was feeling a cold weight in the pit of his stomach.

Trust was a tricky thing with him. Love, sure, Dean thought maybe he could manage that. But _trust_? That was a true testament to his feelings for someone. Trust was true, absolute vulnerability. And in that moment, it scared him to realize that he was already so far gone with Castiel.

_We **should** trust him, he's a great friend. Look at all he's given up for you, everything he's done for you. He's proven himself trustworthy._

_That's different. It's easy to trust him with a cause, to stand by me in a fight. But..._

_But what? Trust is trust. _

_No, this is different. I don't know if I can... trust him with... this._

_With your heart._

_That sounds stupid._

_Doesn't mean it's not the case._

Dean was so in his own head that his legs had carried him all the way to the diner before he'd realized they'd been walking. When he looked up Cas was staring back at him curiously, squinting at him through the morning sun. Dean looked away immediately, luckily spotting his brother in the diner.

He immediately stormed into the diner, the restaurant's few patrons glancing at his warily, seeing the tone of his hasty approach.

Sam turned to see Dean and looked surprised.

"Not smart, Sam," Dean said gruffly.

"Uh oh," a familiar voice said behind him. Dean turned to see Randy Gunning and Evelyn sitting at the window-booth just behind him.

Diner Girl came out from the kitchen, smiling when she saw Dean and Castiel. "Oh, hey. You want some coffee? Just put a new pot on."

"Thought you weren't open yet," Dean noted suspiciously to Diner Girl.

"We're not. But he was asleep outside the door, waiting, when I got here," she motioned to Sam with a genuine smile. "Guess I took pity on him. Then these two showed up," she motioned to Randy and Evelyn.

"Oh yeah," Dean started sarcastically, "you're like the pied piper."

Diner Girl gave him an odd look, confused by the animosity in his tone.

"I... think it's the food," she offered honestly. "Whole town's got the munchies."

"Right. Well, I'm sorry to cut your breakfast club short, but you're gonna have to come with us ma'am. For questioning," Dean said in his most official tone.

She looked concerned, "Questioning about what?"

"I'm not at liberty to say right here and now. But trust me, you want to cooperate," he pulled out the handcuffs, the threat of them weighty in his hands.

Diner Girl's eyes zeroed in on them and narrowed, "Since when does routine questioning require handcuffs?" she sassed back nervously.

"Since I'm in the FBI and you're coming with me." Dean gave his best authoritative smirk, but his badass rouse was dashed.

"He's not," Sam clarified. "He's not FBI. He's lying. Technically, he's unemployed."

All eyes turned to Dean expectantly, and he remained still, trying to think of how to play this. "I've got the badge."

"Fake," Sam asserted calmly, really calling Dean out.

"I've got the _gun_," Dean grunted at his brother less than subtly.

"_Not_ fake," Sam indicated, "but sure as Hell not FBI issue."

Dean found himself at a loss for words. Cas was standing just behind his shoulder, looking uncomfortable and impatient.

"She doesn't want to go with you," Sam stated calmly.

"Well, Sam, she has to come with us whether she likes it or not. _Remember_?"

"It... would be best..." Castiel tried to add.

"See, Cas and I agree. Two against one. We trump you."

Sam gave an off-handed roll of the eyes and muttered, "That's only because you guys are in love with each other."

Dean's face immediately flushed beet red. Cas merely rolled his eyes, slumping a little with irritation. The waitress had the decency to look as though she was worried such a statement could get Sam's ass kicked.

Dean could feel, very pointedly, that everyone's eyes were on he and Cas.

"Oh, they really are, aren't they...?" Evelyn said, her eyes wide as she examined the two men. "I knew you were smitten with someone, but I never guessed..." her eyes turned to Cas, and she looked him up and down blatantly.

Cas fidgeted under the scrutiny, unconsciously shifting closer to Dean.

"How are you even out of jail?" Dean shot at her.

"I want to see them kiss!" Evelyn spurted suddenly.

Dean's eyes widened in shock. His world screeched to a halt.

"I already have," Sam noted factually.

"Was it _sexy_?" Evelyn asked, coming over and wiggling her shoulder against Sam's arm.

Sam made a disgusted face, "I don't know how to answer that." He pointed to Dean, "He's my brother."

"I've never seen two men kiss," Evelyn stated, almost sadly. Her tongue poked out against her lip as she raked her eyes over Cas and Dean, as if trying to will them with her mind to just get down and dirty right then and there. They squirmed uncomfortably at the blatant attention, Dean's ears and neck getting hot, Castiel's eyes getting shifty.

"They're both so..." Evelyn bit her lip, a smile creeping over her lips. "I'm really excited about it now!" she clapped smiling. "Do it! Kiss him!" she commanded, too thrilled to contain herself.

Dean didn't even have his wits about him enough to argue back. He just stared, in disbelief. He felt like he was trapped in the epitome of his nightmare - socially pressured into addressing his affection for a _man_ - for _Castiel_.

"I myself, never kissed a dude," Randy said conversationally. "Never really wanted to."

"But don't you want to see them do it?" Evelyn asked, practically in a frenzy.

Randy squinted at them a moment, making Dean feel like he was on a phenominally bad acid trip, and surmised, "I could stand to see it. For curiosity's sake," he nodded.

"Then it's settled," she turned to Cas and Dean, "suck face boys!"

Dean's blush, already scarlet, seemed to darken with the ferocity of the demand, he shot a sideways glance at Cas, who met his eyes with an awkward shrug.

"Oh... wow," Diner Girl said, not able to hold it in. She was mortified on their behalf. She seemed to be the only person left that was able to acknowledge that it was inappropriate and getting out of hand.

"Dooo it! doo it! doo it!" Evelyn began to chant. Randy joined in for the fun of it.

"Why does everyone keep demanding that I kiss him!" Dean yelled angrily.

Diner Girl looked at him sympathetically, as if worried Dean was going to absolutely flip.

Sam started joining in on the chanting, and Dean looked at him to say _What the fuck?_ Sam just shrugged. He was clearly enjoying the peer pressure on Dean, as well as the group enjoyment of Dean's embarrassment.

"Alright, enough!" Dean yelled angrily, the vein in his forehead bulging.

But the three wouldn't stop.

Dean was visibly on the edge of some kind of attack, he was red and panicking - he couldn't stand the attention, and he'd barely come to terms with him and Cas being a _thing_ to begin with. He rubbed his hand over his forehead shakily, about to snap, when suddenly Cas' arms were around him, pulling him in for a kiss that softened his tension before he could fight it.

Again.

Dean made a mental note to keep on guard because apparently Cas was a sneaky kisser. Like, some sort of expert in surprise lip-assault.

When Cas' lips met his own, Dean was thankful that Cas had turned him around and his back was to the spectators.

As soon as Cas' skin touched his own Dean could feel Cas pushing some sort of Angelic force through his system - it was a sensation he couldn't quite comprehend. A kind of control, serenity. As if warm saline was seeping through his body, pushing in his veins. Somehow he could feel its intent - to calm him. He fought it, stubborn ass that he was. But it was as if he could feel, more than hear, Cas' voice in his head, saying,

_Don't panic. _

_Don't be afraid._

He felt Cas tracing his bottom lip with his tongue, pressing at the seam of his lips asking for entrance.

Dean gave it. But the sigh of relief was short-lived. It seemed as soon as that blissful feeling of Cas taking his mouth registered in his mind, Dean snapped back to reality.

And the sudden flash of Randy's camera helped that right along.

Dean pulled away abruptly, seeing Cas looking at him as if he was the whole world. Cas' eyes focused solely on him, a small smile on his lips as he brushed his thumb against Dean's cheek.

Dean wished he could reciprocate that serenity. But his mind was with their audience, still watching them slack-jawed.

Displaying such an intimate moment felt like a betrayal, it felt mortifyingly private, and Dean was so embarrassed he wasn't sure if he wanted to hit someone, or go hide in the bathroom again, and lie in the fetal position until he died.

He followed the first instinct that made sense, and stormed away, not stopping for anything - not even the pleading voices of his audience.

There was an awkward hum to the room in the silence after Dean left.

"Wow..." Evelyn said, completely awed, shaking her head and smiling.

Cas would have joined her in awing at the experience, if it weren't for the stinging weight of doubt in him. "I think perhaps that was not wise," Cas noted sadly.

Diner Girl gave him a sympathetic look. "Don't think he's quite ready for the parade," she suggested. But her reference to the Pride parade, and thus the insinuation that Dean wasn't quite done wrapping his head around what he felt for Cas, was entirely lost on the socially unaware angel.

"What parade?" Cas asked curiously.

She just smiled at him, and shook her head. "Oh boy," she sighed to herself.

Randy Gunning slipped the new photo into Castiel's breast pocket with a wink. "Another beauty," he said with a drawl and an endearingly honest smile.

Castiel sighed heavily.

* * *

><p>Castiel found Dean down the street, leaning against his car, frowning down at the pavement. When the hunter looked up and saw Cas approaching, his face immediately set into an angry expression and he turned away from the angel to face the car.<p>

Cas didn't speak. He simply came up behind Dean and stood there silently until Dean decided to speak first. Or didn't.

Dean gave an irritated huff and turned around to face Cas, that familiar mask of directionless anger in place. Cas could see right through it, so the fact that Dean bothered to be that way confused Castiel to no end, causing him to become just as irritated.

"You just gonna stand there and look at me?" Dean shot waspishly.

Cas said nothing. He stared and remained still.

"_What?"_ Dean fired.

"You are a baffling human being, Dean."

Dean gave a mirthless laugh and turned around, wrenching the car door open. But he never got to get in, because then Cas hand was on his shoulder urging him to turn back around.

Dean's jaw flexed; he was full of rage that he himself didn't comprehend, and Cas being near him didn't help.

"I don't understand why you're behaving like this," Castiel demanded.

Dean shook his head. _Of course you don't. You don't understand anything!_

_No, he doesn't. Cut him some slack._

_He embarrassed me! _

_Why? Cause he actually admitted how he feels? You're right, he's evil - we have to kill him,_ Dean snarked at himself.

Castiel noticed that Dean was livid, and that he wouldn't look at him in the eyes. That bothered him more than anything. He stepped in closer to Dean, his own anger softening when he could feel the emotional confusion rolling off of the man in waves. Dean didn't look at Cas as the angel stepped in close, but he didn't move away either.

"I apologize for kissing you," Cas said, his voice rough with the awkwardness of the exchange. "I may have... misread the situation."

Dean couldn't think of anything to say.

When his apology was met by continuing tense silence Cas sighed heavily. "I assumed that..." his words ran out and he shrugged in frustration. "I don't know."

He could feel Dean's rioting emotions quell minutely, though the undercurrent of frustration was still humming deep and consistent within the man.

"Dean...?" Castiel was floating in the ocean without a compass. He had no idea what was going on between them, no reference, no concept of why Dean was angry, no way to know if he'd said the right thing or wrong thing just then. And Dean was absolutely no help at all. Cas was desperate for some direction. But Dean still wouldn't look at him.

Out of instinct more than anything else Castiel reached out and let his fingers rest underneath Dean's chin, trying to lift his face so he would look at him.

It was a sweet touch, longing, vulnerable - a prayer that Dean would just simply comply and allow himself to be seen.

Dean snapped.

He slapped Cas' hand away, jerking away from the touch as if it was entirely uncalled for.

"It's not gonna be like that ok!"

Cas' eyes were big and blue and confused and Dean's insides were churning with conflict - he loved that touch. But he hated how it would look...

_Are we seriously that shallow?_

_SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP_

With the noise in his head and the pull in his heart and the disheveled angel looking at him... Dean just needed time.

He needed a lot more time than the couple of hours that had passed since their kiss to deal with this. Things couldn't just change over night.

"It just - it can't be like that!" he demanded at Castiel, who simply tilted his head, trying to understand. Dean continued, unable to stop himself, "We're not gonna hold hands, and... and... go on dates, and let everybody we meet think that we're- that we - It's just, not gonna be like that Cas. It can't!"

Cas attempted to be placating, "It can be whatever we want it to be-"

"Oh, don't be naive. Just stop it. You're not even human. You don't even know what you're talking about."

There was a split-second where Dean could see the whisper of a wince flash across Castiel's face, evidence that he'd stung him. Dean knew he should regret saying that.

Cas leveled a look at Dean that nearly knocked the man off his feet.

That hadn't come out quite like Dean wanted, but the angel's jaw was set into a hard line and he got that look that said he'd be giving Dean the cold shoulder...

and Dean was unsettlingly relieved at the prospect of not having to talk about this anymore.

"Let's just, do the damn job and get the Hell outta dodge."

"Very well Dean," Cas said, his voice tight. It was obvious to Dean that he was mad.

But that was only because Castiel didn't want it to show that he was actually more confused than anything.

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><p><strong>Sorry for any typos - this is hastily posted. I'm on a mission. Part two of this chapter on the way...<strong>


	14. The Truth Hurts Part II

**Part Two, as promised.**

**That makes THREE chapters in one week. oooooooh yeah. It's a trinity.**

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><p>The Truth Hurts.<p>

Part II.

Diner girl was a tad _disturbed_, to have woken up in a strange motel room with the gigantic Sam Winchester unconscious beside her and two men armed and glaring down at her with expectant, predatory eyes. She was just a tad disturbed.

Understatement.

After the bizarre encounter at the diner Castiel had transported her back to the motel with a simple touch to her forehead, leaving her asleep on Sam's bed. He returned to the diner, easily dodging Sam's clumsy punches, and transported him as well, leaving him asleep beside her.

Now the poor girl was blinking Dean and Cas into focus, with no idea where she was. She struggled to put it all together for a moment, before staring up at Dean and Cas with wide eyes, seeming to realize how much danger she was in, scrambling back against the headboard. Her eyes darted around for help, landing on the dingy, outdated motel room phone.

"I wouldn't," Dean warned.

"What's going on?" she asked nervously, her voice scratchy from sleep and the desperation to keep cool. "How did I get here?" Her eyes zeroed in on Cas, and she squinted, remembering, "You... How did you...?"

"Pretty trippy, right?" Dean responded smoothly to her obvious building terror. "First time he zapped me somewhere, I damn near lost my lunch." Dean laughed a little, looking to Castiel and finding a disapproving glare from the angel. Dean cleared his throat, getting back to business. "Look, we've got you. You're caught. So how about we make this easy on every one for once - you just reverse the curse on the people of this town, and we won't kill you. Deal?"

Her brow furrowed at him, and there was a silent moment where she seemed to be working through his words. "I-I don't know anything about a curse," she answered in confusion.

"Very cute," Dean mocked. "But I'm not in the mood to play _who's the bad guy_. You turned my brother into Cheech Marin, and frankly, if we don't get him back to normal soon, _I'm_ gonna kill him. So how about we cut out the innocent damsel act, ok? Say goodbye to your magical feel-good powers."

She stared at him, unblinking.

"We're gonna do this with or without your cooperation. I was just thinking that _with_ might be easier. For both of us. But hey, my life is full of challenges. Why should today any different?"

She couldn't think of anything to say. She was absolutely lost. Here was this handsome, maladjusted man in front of her, both threatening and oddly endearing, flanked by his stiff, stoic partner in crime, who now seemed somehow more threatening that his larger, green-eyed counterpart. These were the same men who earlier had locked lips in broad daylight in her rural, midwestern diner. Now they were holding her hostage, talking about curses and magic and insinuating the age old threat of _the easy way or the hard way_. She considered herself a pretty quick study, but for the life of her she could not make the pieces of this puzzle fit together into a picture that made any kind of sense.

Castiel began moving about the room, gathering the various bits and pieces he needed for the ritual - an old leather book, a dented-up brass bowl, and various odds and ends including a small vile of oil and what looked like bags of strange spices and herbs. Diner Girl's eyes followed him nervously.

Dean started to get irritated, "You're runnin' out of time here honey. You can help us and help yourself, or we can do this the hard way."

"I don't - I can't! I don't know what you're saying!"

Something in her eyes when she said it turned Dean's stomach. She seemed... too sincere. Like she really didn't have any idea what he was talking about. But then, Dean had been burned before. He doubted the ability to read people that he had once cherished and gloated about. "What do you know about ancient Greece?" he asked warily.

She gaped, and then glanced at Sam, "What is it with you guys and ancient Greece?"

Dean squinted at her, a strange ghost of a smile on his face. He was kind of relieved, "You really have no idea, do you?"

"No idea about what?" she asked, utterly frustrated and starting to panic. Her composure was beginning to crumble in the wake of so many seemingly random questions and statements, not to mention the situation she found herself in - held prisoner in a trashy motel room at the whims of multiple grown men who happened to be really freaking strange. "Look, I don't know anything, I don't know what you're talking about! Please, just, just let me go. I swear I won't make trouble for you. I'll disappear..." Her eyes were beginning to well as she pleaded with them, but she got no response, which only served to terrify her further. "I don't know what you want!" she screamed, at her wits end.

Castiel sighed, from across the room, turning a page in the book whilst simultaneously pouring some of the oil into the brass bowl. He explained with a low, disaffected voice, "You have, like your ancestor, fostered a culture intoxicated with sensual and irrational impulses. You must be stopped for the civilization of this town to survive."

She simply stared at him, her mouth hanging open a little, and said, "I don't understand. Is this, some kind of religious thing?"

Dean gave a slight chuckle, but didn't answer.

Diner Girl swallowed hard, choking down her fear and panic. She tried to face him with some semblance of composure, self-respect. She got up off of the bed, straightening up to her full height, putting a little more space between herself and Dean. "What are you gonna do to me?" she asked calmly.

Dean looked at her, as if surveying her and weighing his options, before saying, "We're gonna bind your power."

"Bind my... Is that... some sort of kinky slang?"

"Nope," Dean said. She waited for more information and he offered it, "Shouldn't hurt at all. I think... But, gotta be done."

Castiel stepped forward abruptly, and the girl shrank away from him, though he seemed totally unaware of her fear. He reached out and grabbed the girl's forearm as if she were just an object which required examination. She gave an embarrassing squeak when he touched her, still blatantly afraid for her life.

Castiel held the girl's forearm in his vice-like hand and she edged away from him, her hand balling into a nervous fist. He pushed up her shirt sleeve before producing one of Dean's knives and pressing it to her skin producing a long red stripe up her forearm.

She shrieked in surprise trying to pull away, wrenching against his hold, "What the - let me go! Freak! Help!"

Castiel pressed his fingers irritatedly to her neck and her voice was silenced. She clutched at her throat with her free hand, eyes darting to Dean in panic.

Dean did feel bad for her, especially if she had no idea what she really was. He tried to quell her panic, "Just calm down, everything is gonna be fine."

She stared at him in disbelief, eyes beginning to well.

Castiel held the brass bowl underneath the girl's arm, blood now dripping thickly over her freckled skin.

Dean took a few steps closer, his hands up passively, "I know this is... crazy, to you. Trust me, we have to do this. But, you're gonna be fine. I promise."

Once Castiel was satisfied he released the girl's arm and she stumbled away a few steps, clutching her injury tightly and watching with a terrorized fascination as Castiel arranged certain things about the table, methodically adding them to the bowl.

He drew a collection of sigils on the table, placing the bowl in the middle and closed his eyes, reciting a brief chant in a language she didn't understand. He laid his palm over the bowl and she saw the bowl's contents start to shimmer and glow, as if he had started a fire within it somehow. She couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination, the strangeness of it all almost distracting from the sharp, throbbing pain in her still bleeding arm.

Castiel finished the chant and threw one more item into the bowl. It sparked furiously and Diner Girl felt a kind of cramping, muscles knotting suddenly in her every limb. She winced and let out a surprised grunt, before the discomfort disappeared almost immediately. She felt... different somehow. Not weaker, not hurt, just... different. But her ability to notice the subtle, intangible difference waned with every second until after a few moments she could hardly acknowledge it anymore.

She looked up to see Dean and Castiel staring back at her.

Castiel's eyes were cool, scientifically interested. Dean's were different, concerned almost, as he looked her up and down for evidence that what they had done was effective.

Diner Girl shook her head, as if clearing everything away so she could think clearly again. She had the urge to speak, but still wasn't able, after Castiel's previous silencing. It was almost a relief not to be able to speak - what the Hell was she supposed to say?

She clutched her bleeding arm more tightly and Dean winced for her, "Cas, maybe you should... put her right?"

"Of course, my apologies." She was almost used to the two fingers poking her in the forehead at this point, so when this bizarre blue-eyed man stepped up to her she merely closed her eyes and held her breath. Once his fingers touched her skin, she felt... better. She opened her eyes to see her injury was gone - not healed, but gone, as if it had never existed.

"Wow..." she said again, and looked up suddenly, noticing she had her voice back and touched her fingers to her throat.

Dean looked a little bashful, "Listen, I'm sorry about this whole thing. Kidnapping you was kind of the only way to get this done. Sorry if we scared you, but trust me, this was the better alternative."

Dean's tone made it clear she was no longer in danger, and hinted that maybe she hadn't been to begin with. It was as if he was telling her she was free to go.

There was a moment of dead silence, all of them feeling the oppressive electric storm of awkwardness and emotions swirling around them until -

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!" she exploded before she could think better of it.

"Trust me lady, you don't want to know."

"You bet your crazy black-magic ass I do! What the Hell did you just do to me? How did you do that?" she brandished her good-as-new arm at Cas. "What the Hell just happened!"

"You sure you want the truth?" Dean offered in a warning tone.

She looked at him closely a moment before crossing her arms, "Yes. I do."

"Everything that's been happening in your town, all the crazy that's been plaguing this place... it's because of you."

She stared at him doubtfully.

"You have a kind of latent demigod-like power, and it's been poisoning the people in your town to go batshit," he explained as if it was as easy as 1,2,3.

She stared at him still, before giving a stuttered laugh. "You are completely insane."

"The ring you're wearing, it's a cameo of Dionysus. Greek God, ya know? You're his descendant, and somehow your power got... woken up, when you inherited the ring and that's when all this craziness started."

"And... this?" she pointed at the bowl.

"Binding spell. Keep your powers dormant so you can't poison anyone else."

"Did it work?" she asked, just humoring them, her voice was heavy with disdain.

Dean looked at Cas, and then over to his sleeping brother, "Let's find out..." He walked over to the bed and leaned over his brother.

Both Castiel and Diner Girl watched with interest.

Dean smacked his hand on Sam's face, "Rise n' shine jackass!"

Sam grunted awake, jerking and staring up at Dean with confused eyes. He sat up, wincing suddenly and holding his head, "Oh - woah..."

"Hey!" Dean yelled rudely, "you still high?" Sam's eyes trailed around the room, landing on the waitress. He stared at her as if he couldn't quite compute why she was there.

"Sam... you with us?" Dean leaned over, checking him out.

"Yeah I think so," he muttered, tearing his eyes away from her, his cheeks pinking. Sam stared around the room, thinking hard, and Dean could see the memory of the last day slowly come back to him.

"What happened?" he asked warily.

"Did the spell while you were snoozin', drunky," Dean slapped him on the back. "Do you... uh... remember anything?" he added not looking Sam in the eye.

Sam looked at Dean briefly and then looked away. "Uh. Yeah. Pretty much." He rubbed his head, swinging his legs so he could put his feet on the floor and sit up properly. He looked at Diner Girl pleadingly, but she turned away, looking at the floor. Sam's voice came out quiet and nervous, "Are you...ok?"

She turned, leveling him with an accusatory stare. "I take it you don't work for the Newspaper."

Sam's heart plummeted. He was desperate to make her understand, "I can explain-"

"Really?" she cut him off harshly, still subconsciously cradling her formerly-lacerated arm.

Sam's mind went shamefully blank. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the day's events, but he couldn't put any of it into working order. His eyes were pleading, his mouth opening as if hoping that the act would somehow force something sensible to come out.

She shook her head dismissively, somehow managing to look both livid and hurt. She turned away from Sam coldly. "You," she demanded suddenly, looking straight at Castiel.

He simply stared back at her, furrowing his brow as if confused by her sudden attention.

"Yeah, you, in the trench coat!" she demanded. "Magic me home, right now."

Cas looked to Dean, who looked to Sam, who was looking like a kicked dog. But Sam wouldn't meet his brother's eyes, so Dean nodded at Cas, giving him the go ahead.

Between the hunters and the angel such a silent exchange was an obvious communication, loud and clear. But to poor Diner Girl, they were just three ass-hats nodding at each other.

"Take me home, now," she demanded forcefully, praying they wouldn't call her bluff. She was pretending to be more livid than scared, but in reality she was terrified. But she knew most men will fold when up against a woman scorned. If she seemed too strong, they'd back off. But inside she was a jittery mess that was just praying she made it back to the house before she collapsed into a heap of frustrated tears and existential crises.

She gave a shaky sigh of relief when Castiel came towards her and, though he was hard to read, appeared to be acquiescing to her demand as opposed to intending to kill her. He nodded at her and she rolled her eyes - she couldn't help it.

Castiel touched her shoulder and she was gone.

The room was silent, Dean dared to look at Sam. He looked absolutely wrecked - hungover and heartsick. He retreated into the bathroom and locked the door before Dean could say anything. Dean was so worried about Sam that he'd momentarily forgotten Castiel. When Sam locked the door behind him Dean let out a heavy sigh and turned around to see Castiel still just standing there. Dean froze, remembering now that on top of everything else, things were a new level of tense between them.

Castiel's eyes were cold, piercing. It seemed that now that the case had been dealt with, he too remembered where they had left off personally. And it seemed that he was feeling rather put-out.

Their eyes locked for a few moments, and Dean didn't know what to say. He could tell somehow, feel it in his body, that Cas was waiting for him to say something. But he just didn't have anything left. Not at that moment.

In a whisper of wings and with an unnatural shift to the air, Cas was gone.

And Dean was in the room alone.


	15. Trouble of the World

**New chapter - I hope with all the hope in a teenaged unicorn's diary that you like it. **

**You know it was actually ready for you awhile ago, but I couldn't get it up. ****...I should rephrase that... ****I couldn't post it successfully. Not sure what happened, but something went wonky. So here it is for you now.**

**As always, reviews are appreciated and cherished.**

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><p>Trouble of the World.<p>

Sam and Dean didn't do long spells in the same place. It was bad for business. They didn't need people getting used to them being around, or wondering who the new guys were. And the longer you stayed somewhere, the more attention you'd get. So for what they did for a living, it was better to be in and out in a flash.

The boys were painfully aware of that fact as they shelled-out the cash for yet another day at the crap-hole motel they'd been at for near two weeks now. They'd been sleeping in the same room, driving the same roads, eating at the same diner - they were practically regulars.

And Dean didn't like the look the short-order cook gave him whenever he and Sam walked in. He gave him _the nod_. You know, the _man nod_. The silent, _Hey, what's good, man?_ And it freaked Dean out because it meant he recognized them now. Everyone did.

Especially now that the town was getting back to normal.

The excuse they'd used to stick around another day was to check on the success of their ritual, but Dean knew that Sam had to, if nothing else, at least apologize Diner Girl.

It gave the older brother a kind of heartache to see the guy so enamored with a girl they would ultimately leave behind. He was tempted to give them more time. He wanted to, he really did. Besides, after being put through the emotional ringer in the past week, Dean was ready to take a few days off. He himself needed to think as well.

So it was, that despite their better judgement, the Winchesters decided to hang around a little bit longer.

* * *

><p>Dean stirred his coffee, looking out the window at the small but bizarre town they'd been calling home for over two weeks now. Things were mostly back to normal, the people getting their sense back, relearning what it meant to have their wits about them. All permanent damage done was regrettable, but they would live. The poison of the curse was working slowly out of their systems.<p>

"The only one left is Randy, but he's been effected the longest so, maybe it's gonna take him a little longer to work his way out of it..." Dean looked up to see that his words fell on deaf ears. His brother was nodding as if he was listening, but his puppy-dog eyes were trained on the waitress who was on the other side of the restaurant and keeping her distance. Sam couldn't look away from her.

"And yesterday he wore a live chicken on his hat and went around asking people how they wanted their green eggs and ham..." Dean tested.

Sam failed. He didn't even look over.

Dean got up from the booth, clapping his hand on his brother's shoulder, this being the only thing since they'd gotten there that fully grasped his brother's attention, and said, "Good luck Sammy."

Dean's tone was, oddly sincere. It caused Sam's eyebrows to knit together. "Wait, where're you going?"

"Just do us all a favor and go make it right, Sam. If you can. You know where I'll be." Dean gave a casual salute and headed out of the diner.

Sam took a deep breath, _I will_. He left some money on the table, enough to cover the bill and a sizeable tip, and rushed out of the diner.

Twenty minutes later Sam was back, hovering outside the diner's entrance like some sort of creep, bouquet of flowers in hand. He hoped he picked the nicest ones. He'd gone expensive, as far as this town was concerned. But he didn't know ass from elbow when it came to flowers. He just hoped they were enough to get the ball rolling.

He took a deep, albeit shaky, breath and walked in. He headed straight for the counter, standing directly across from Diner Girl, getting there a little too quickly for him to really feel ready. And when she upturned her eyes and caught him in them, his every well-planned sentiment completely vanished. And what came out instead of his epic, Nicholas Sparks _lover's apology_ moment was a nervous and stuttered, "H-hi."

She didn't say anything, but there was no malice in her expression.

Sam completely crumbled under her gaze anyway.

"Um... these are for you," he offered less than smoothly.

Finally she spoke, and her voice was calm and even, despite Sam's finely-tuned senses picking up a definite edge to her tone. "So, are these _sorry I came on too strong_ flowers, or _sorry my brother and his superhuman boyfriend kidnapped you_ flowers?"

"Uh, both, I hope."

She examined him a moment before looking down at her shoes thoughtfully. Sam held his breath waiting for the inevitable_ Are you kidding? Get the Hell out of my sight! If I ever see you again I'll call the cops!_

But instead she said simply, "I'll put them in water."

She extended her hand and Sam just looked at her stupidly for a moment, as if he couldn't quite register what she'd said. Finally he snapped out of it and jerked forward, clumsily handing her the flowers. She let the smallest of smiles escape and when Sam saw it he returned a smile of his own that was brilliant enough to have her blushing. It was so clear he was relieved, that she couldn't help but be flattered.

Sam was surprised that she allowed him to put forward such an effort into earning her forgiveness. He stayed at that diner, sitting at the bar, for hours. And after awhile, it seemed she was starting to forgive him. They chatted about this and that, mostly talking about the progress of the town's recovery without actually talking about what had gone on in the motel room or the fact that apparently the whole mess was her fault in the first place. And eventually, it started to feel comfortable again. Easy. She would smile at him, and he'd smile back, and she'd tuck a loose stand of hair behind her ear and Sam would wish he'd reached out and done it for her.

They were both amazed how easily everything else was pushed to the side.

"So," Sam started, picking absently at the napkin on the counter, "what is your name? I've been talking to you for weeks and I don't even know it."

"Whose fault is that?" she smirked.

"I guess mine," he smiled back.

She held out her hand for him to shake properly, "I'm Sam."

"You're kidding," he asked, squinting at her.

"Uh, no. Why would I be kidding?..."

He laughed a little to himself before taking the girl's hand, "Nice to meet you Sam. I'm also Sam."

The girl's eyebrows raised.

"It's too bad," he said, shaking her hand.

"What is?"

"I'm really starting to like you. But... I just don't think I could date a girl with the same name as me," he shook his head, not sure if the level of teasing versus sincerity was tipping past fifty-fifty.

The girl didn't miss a beat. She crossed her arms and said, "Well, guess you'll just have to come up with a good nickname for me; an appealing term of endearment."

Sam laughed, looking at the girl in absolute wonder.

He squinted at her, pretending to be thinking hard. "Like... Peaches," he suggested, unable to hide the mischievous glint in his eye.

"_Peaches_?" She walked away shaking her head, not able not to smile as Sam laughed at her reaction. "God, I hope you've got better than that."

"Hey listen," Sam called, and she turned back, her smile persistent. "If you want to sit down and... talk through what happened... I've been where you are. Kind of. I know it can be... Well I know you must have a lot of questions. So, if you wanted some... clarification, I can help you with that. ...I think."

She looked down at her shoes, her brow furrowing for a moment before she looked back up at him, saying sincerely, "Yeah. I could probably use that."

She turned away to head off back to work, and Sam noticed his heart fluttering, an anticipation that he hadn't felt in a long time swelling in his chest.

* * *

><p>Being an Angel of the Lord, citizen of Heaven before Earth, Castiel was entirely oblivious of the idea of pace.<p>

He had a vast but ultimately abstract knowledge of the restrictions of human culture and its protocols. For him there was no application of ideas like, _you can't do that til the second date_. Or, _you should wait before you do A, B and C_. Or even, _too fast_. And his understanding of the struggle of human sexuality was even more limited. From the outside it seemed a base, uncomplicated thing. But the more he thought about it, the more complex it seemed to become. There were physical attractions and subtleties and confusions, and emotional complications and social nuances and none of them made any sense to him. He could hardly untangle them at all.

All Castiel knew now, for sure, was what he wanted. And he could no longer see any reason he shouldn't have it.

He and Dean had kissed. They had kissed not like friends, not like family, but like lovers. They had admitted to each other it was pleasurable. So Castiel found himself asking, why stop? He had no way of comprehending the internal combustion that his second, _public_ kiss had triggered in Dean's mind. All Castiel could read from the situation was that he and Dean were very much not on the same page, and that had to change. Immediately.

* * *

><p>Dean was in the motel room cleaning up after the disarray of their little kidnapping and power-binding, party figuring he'd let the mess go long enough. He was blinking down at a few rust-brown drops of Diner Girl's blood on the carpet when he felt Castiel arrive. His heart thumped in his chest, his every muscle went rigid and quaky. He turned and Cas was standing there, looking the same as always.<p>

"Hello Dean."

"Hey Cas," Dean offered, trying a little too hard to be cordial. "Towns going back to normal, so... Looks like the binding spell worked."

"Of course it did," he offered flatly.

Dean rolled his eyes, moving to walk past Castiel toward the sink, where the bloody brass bowl would undoubtedly need scrubbing. But before he could get there, Castiel stepped in front of him, an odd look in his eyes.

Dean knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready to deal with it. He tried to push past Castiel, but the angel stubbornly got in front of him again. "Cas," Dean started to warn. But he was cut off.

"You... told me I was to blame for making your heart beat erratically, as though it was flattery. Was it not? Have I... misinterpreted? Does it... hurt you?"

_Just like Cas. Straight to the point._

Dean's heart was beating hard in his chest, a traitorous reminder of his lust and confusion. "No, no. It doesn't _hurt_. I just - I'm not gonna do this with you alright. That's not how this works."

Cas eyes narrowed in interest, "This?"

"Yeah, you know." He motioned between them as though his statement warranted no explanation. But Cas simply stared at him blankly, waiting. "_This_. You and me. It's not gonna happen. It can't."

Cas' brow creased, "What exactly can't happen?" he asked sincerely, nothing sarcastic about it. And damn if that didn't near break Dean's heart. Did Cas really have no idea what was happening here?

"You can't just kiss me Cas," Dean said a little too harshly, not sure where the animosity was coming from.

Cas smiled shyly, ducking his head, "I did before-"

"Don't be cute, Cas. You're not a friggin' school girl and it doesn't work for you."

Even as the words were leaving Dean's mouth he was regretting them, but they'd gained so much velocity he couldn't shut himself up. And as his voice came out in a sudden harshly-toned yell he could see the hurt blossoming over Cas' face, as though he didn't quite understand Dean's anger except to know it was somehow his fault.

"Look, I don't wanna be mean, I'm just... What happened the other night, it was just because we had to. It wasn't real, you get that right?"

_Lie! __Why the fuck are we backtracking!_

Dean shook his head to shut up his mind.

Cas tilted his head to the side, confused.

Dean simultaneously loved and hated the way it looked - Cas was just so...oblivious. Dean's chest constricted - poor Cas wouldn't even see it coming.

_I have to. _

_Why?_

_I __have__ to._

_Liar. Liar. Liar._

Dean swallowed down the internal battle, his jaw clenched and his voice was hard, "We kissed because we _had_ _to_. It didn't mean anything."

_LIE LIE LIE._

Suddenly, it seemed to click for the angel, as if in a snap Castiel understood what was happening. Castiel's shields went up so fast Dean could have blinked and missed it. It would have been easier on his conscience if he had. Castiel's face went blank and impassive. He stepped away from Dean, his posture stiffening visibly. So much so that Dean was able to really take into account how much the angel had let himself relax. And it made him think, that he'd never seen him quite so comfortable in his skin (borrowed though it may be) before this past week.

But now he was stiff again, rigid and closed off.

_It's better this way..._ Dean told himself.

_Liar. Fucking liar. Look what you're doing to him you asshole._

"You mean to say it meant nothing, to you," Cas clarified, his voice flat.

Dean swallowed hard, but he couldn't do it - he couldn't just say _yes_, he couldn't spare Cas this one merciful bullet to the brain to end his suffering. To put a definite end to it. He just couldn't bear to.

"I see," Castiel stated after being met with silence.

Dean's heart jumped and flipped, panicking, rioting in his chest as he could feel Cas drawing away. It was a physical plea, an actual bodily warning, that he was making a mistake.

He didn't heed it.

Dean said nothing. There was a moment of heavy silence before Castiel stated, "Understood," and disappeared.

Dean couldn't understand it, but he wanted to cry. It built and built, and he fought it wave after wave until he snapped. He grabbed the nearest object and threw it against the wall.

It wasn't until he saw the shattered shards of the ceramic coffee mug on the carpet that he felt a hollowing in his heart, that he was disturbed to realize, settled into his chest as if it was going to be permanent.

* * *

><p><strong>Ok, this is an experiment - it is about to get interactive up in here.<strong>

**Who has a good idea for a nick-name for Diner Girl? I have one in mind, but if you think of one you feel fits her, let me know! Perhaps I'll pick one to work in to the story.**

**Then we'll be co-writers. _Whaaaaaat_? That's teamwork people.**


	16. Conflict Resolution

**This is officially my most reviewed story! (Even with the typos! which I implore you to continue ignoring out of appreciation for the expedience with which I am attempting to post) Thanks you guys! And for your suggestions as well - we have a winner in the interactive nick-name challenge, by popular consensus...**

* * *

><p>Conflict Resolution.<p>

Dean had gathered the broken pieces of the mug into his hands as if handling a fragile baby bird, fallen from its nest. As if the cold, sharp ceramic, with it's jagged edges and stained finish were something precious and alive.

The pieces were transferred into Dean's bedside table. He removed the old bible that had been residing there for, Dean gathered from the layer of dust, forever, and placed it under his bed. He replaced it with the mug - destroyed, but still so much more Heaven adjacent than that dusty old book.

Since Sam and Diner Girl, who Sam was now affectionately calling "Ivy" much to Dean's chagrin, were really hitting it off, Dean didn't have it in him to suggest that they hit the road. As a result, they'd been there for two more days already.

Two days of Sam coming back to the motel with a definite love-glow, and Dean trying not to hate him for it as he sat around alone, refusing to admit that he regretted pushing Castiel away. Castiel, who he had not seen since that encounter.

He found himself quiet, mellow, internally distraught. He had a lot to think about, and Sam noticed that Dean wasn't his usual jibing self, but instead a sullen, reflective person.

Sam peered over at Dean, watching the man methodically pack his things into his duffel.

It was the third time he'd done so that day.

"You alright?" Sam asked, genuinely.

"Yeah, why?"

"You're kinda pale. You look like something's eating at you."

"I'm fine Sam," he stated a little too defensively.

Sam immediately straightened up, knowing that tone. "What happened?"

"I said I'm fine!"

Sam squinted at his brother, who was trying too desperately to pretend he didn't feel Sam staring. It was barely a minute before Dean broke. _"What?"_

"What really happened with Cas?" It didn't take a genius to notice the obvious _lack_ of Angel in their motel room the past few days.

"Nothing. Why do you think something had to happen. He just left."

"Bullshit. You did something stupid didn't you?" Sam accused.

"Like what?" Dean asked as if it was a ridiculous accusation.

"Like lie to him. Like tell him to get the Hell away from you cause you don't swing that way-"

"Sam," Dean warned, a little put off by how well his brother knew him.

"Dean, why would you break his heart like that! Why would you break _both_ your hearts?"

"Sam, I can't talk about this."

"Of course you can't," Sam threw down his duffel. "This is unbelievable." He stormed to the door, grabbing his coat and room key.

"Where the Hell are you going?" Dean demanded.

"Out!"

Sam stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

Dean threw down his own duffel. He considered punching the wall, but instead just stood there at the foot of his bed, on hand on his hip, the other rubbing his care-strained forehead.

Maybe he was getting too old for all of this self-denial. He knew he loved Cas. He had realized as much a long time ago, and it was thrown sharply to the forefront in the Angel's noticeable absence. Dean only wished he could just let himself have him.

If only it was that easy.

* * *

><p><em>Just like Dean<em>, Sam thought, _one step forward, ten steps back_.

_It's always like this._

Dean trusts Sam, then he doesn't. Dean believes the world is precious, then he doesn't care if the whole thing burns. He wants a normal life, then he doesn't believe normal is possible. He wants to kiss Cas, and then he wants nothing to do with him.

Granted, Sam felt it appropriate to blame himself a little bit for how their relationship most recently came to a head. He'd apologized profusely but he couldn't be blamed entirely, it wasn't really his fault.

But Dean shut him down immediately, refusing to talk about it. He was refusing to acknowledge that it happened at all.

And Sam, eyes now open to the debacle that was Dean and Cas' affection for each other, could look back and see with every wince and every longing glance how Cas incessantly suffered in Dean's presence. Ever since Sam realized what his brother felt for the angel, he was having an impossible time ignoring it. And Dean pulling away, after such an intense display of affection, was tearing poor Castiel apart. Sam knew it, even if he wasn't seeing it first-hand.

Sometimes in the past Sam had been jealous of Cas' _profound bond_ with his brother; he worried that in some ways Cas knew Dean better, that their relationship was somehow easier. Lead, follow - no questions, no doubt. A basic understanding of each others' motives. But Sam could see plain as day now that Cas and Dean were at a loss.

But as bad as Sam felt for Castiel, he couldn't help but take a backseat, because he knew it wasn't his place to explain Dean and his behavior. That fell to Dean himself. And it pained Sam to see, that Dean wasn't manning-up.

Sam sat heavily in his booth, all too happy to see his girl slide into the seat across from him.

"Uh oh," she started. "Let me guess," she put her fingers to her temples in that familiar mock-psychic pose, "it's about Dean..."

Sam couldn't help but give a laugh. "Didn't know I was that easy to read."

"Trust me, you are." They smiled at each other a moment before she asked, sincerely, "What's wrong?"

"Remember everything I said about Dean and his friend-"

"Who I now know is Castiel," she got rid of the allusion for him.

"Yeah. Well, remember how I said Dean was really stubborn and wouldn't admit how he felt?"

"The cat's kind of out of the bag after the whole, kissing in public thing, isn't it?"

"See, that's what a _rational_ person would think."

"So, what? He's in the closet?" she asked carefully.

"There is no closet for Dean. That's how repressed he is. The closet doesn't even exist."

"Wow."

"Exactly."

"So... what's he gonna do?"

Sam shook his head, "I don't know. But whatever it is, I hope he does it soon. I can't help but feel like there's a window of opportunity here, ya know? Like if he doesn't say something soon, it's gonna be too late."

"That would be a shame," she said, staring down at the tabletop, looking genuinely saddened by the idea of Dean and Castiel's ships passing in the night.

Sam just stared at her. She really cared, and her words, that it would be a shame, they hit him hard. And not just in reference to his brother's happiness.

She felt Sam's eyes on her and looked up to see he was gazing at her kind of sadly. Suddenly, she wanted to kiss him, to run away with him.

_Must be the God of 'sensual and irrational impulses' in my blood_, she thought to herself.

* * *

><p>Castiel was utterly baffled. And inexplicably hurting.<p>

Sometimes the closer he got to Dean, the harder he was to see. Like a Monet. Up close, it's a riot of colorful brushstrokes. Beautiful, but complex and ultimately hard to understand. When you took a few steps back, the entirety of the picture could be seen more clearly, as all those individual brushstrokes came together to express an entire image.

But even having taken a step back from Dean, he still seemed a baffling jumble of beautiful brushstrokes.

Taking a few days away from the man had not allowed Castiel to understand him any better. But it had allowed him to reflect upon himself. And in his time in seclusion, he had finally allowed himself to admit the utter, sinful truth of the matter.

He loved Dean Winchester.

He loved him above all other men, all other of his Father's children. He loved him in a way that should have been uniquely human, should have been impossible for him. But he loved him nevertheless. He wasn't sure how he knew it, as he was not built to understand such a thing, but somehow Castiel did know.

Perhaps being able to see it thanks to Randy Gunning's charity with his cherished photos was making it easier. The photograph of the two of them standing together, their eyes locked, was enough to convince Castiel that he understood what he was feeling. But if that hadn't been enough, the second even more personal and telling image definitely was. He'd nearly forgotten a second picture was given, slipped into his pocket with a wink. But ever since he laid eyes on it, he was entranced. He often found he couldn't look away. It was printed truth. It was irrefutable evidence to the angel, that he did love the man.

And knowing, admitting to it, made all the difference. Now he had something to fight for. He felt a painful pull, deeming it necessary for him to explain himself, and to ask Dean to love him back.

So Castiel waited until he knew Sam would be gone for some time. And then he flew down to Dean.

Dean seemed surprised to see him. His eyes were wide and so dark today, like they would be when he was tired; his hands ticking nervously at his sides. Castiel remained strong, he did not show any weakness or nervousness, that he could help.

"Cas... where've you-"

"I feel that the last time we spoke I did not... express myself properly," Castiel began, his voice strong and unwavering. "I have come to express to you the truth of my desire, which has, I think, progressed beyond normal boundaries of friendship. I don't believe I made that clear, the last time we conversed."

"Look-"

"Dean, I have come to inform you that... that I believe I love you."

Castiel's hands had started to shake. Despite his efforts, and even his angelic strength, he was as vulnerable as a bare nerve. And Dean's parted lips, his shining eyes, and most of all his long silence did nothing to calm the angel.

Finally Dean was able to move. He looked away, shaking his head, "Cas, I can't-"

Dean was going to say that he couldn't talk about that right now, but then suddenly, he found that he _literally couldn't _talk about it right now. Cas lips were warm and soft against his own, but scratchy in a way that made him unique to anyone else Dean had ever kissed. His kisses were amateur in their style. Cas felt... new. But his passion, the way his lips pressed a little too hard, the way he traced Dean's lips with his tongue a little too vehemently, that passion made it seem like they'd been in love a thousand years and never tired of each other. Something in the way he pressed himself into Dean and tilted his head to capture his lips more easily, made it so easy for Dean to feel like he was trapped in some sort of ancient legend of eternal love. Like Cas was going to take him away to another world, and he was going to let him.

Cas sucked at his bottom lip and Dean's heart fluttered so hard he sagged a little against the angel. And when Dean joined him in endless shallow kisses it was as if he was letting Cas learn him one touch, one brush of lips, one moment at a time. It was...

_Too good.._.

His heart wrenched in his chest.

Dean pulled away violently. He pushed Castiel away and watched as the angel nearly toppled backward onto the desk.

Castiel had never been so embarrassed to be off his game in his entire existence. Angels of the Lord cannot be _shoved_ by _men_. It was just another way Dean had weakened him, had made him vulnerable and then hurt him, had denied him what was so obviously his.

Dean watched, staying still as an child caught before a panther, as Castiel's jaw and hands clenched tight. There was a violent kind of sharpness in his eyes that had Dean's knees inexplicably wanting to buckle beneath him. The lights in the room flickered until the bulbs popped, cracking with the pressure of Castiel's force. Dean ducked at the sound of every crack, but Castiel was still as stone - aside from a wrathful shaking.

And then, before anything more could be said, Castiel disappeared.

* * *

><p>Sam returned to the room, instinctually reaching for the light switch before Dean could get out more than, "Wait don't-"<p>

With the flip of the switch the lights on the walls sparked and gave a loud _crack_. Sam ducked and Dean jolted despite himself before turning on the dim bedside lamp - a lone survivor.

Sam took in the sight of the scorch-marks on the walls by the lights, and the bits of lightbulb glass in the carpets. "What the Hell happened in here?"

"Apparently Cas doesn't take rejection well."

Sam stilled for a moment, then looked down at his shoes, then nodded resolutely. It was all a little off-putting to Dean, who was watching him out of the corner of his eye, not sure what to expect.

"Dean, we're gonna talk about this."

"Uh, no. We're definitely not."

"You are in some sore of denial-"

"Stop it Sam."

"-over your feelings for Cas-"

Dean erupted, "I am not gay!"

"I'm not judging you!"

"There's nothing to judge! Because I am not gay! I'm not a -"

"_Dean_," Sam warned.

Dean took a breath.

"It 2012, will you stop being so repressed."

"And will you stop shoving this down my throat!"

_Woah! very Freudian choice of words Dean_...

"Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything!" Sam demanded.

"Not you!"

Sam cocked his head at Dean. If not him then who? They were alone...

"Ugh! This is impossible!" Dean threw his hands up.

"Dean...are you hearing voices?"

"Oh stop it Sam. I beg you. I can't handle any more self-assessment today."

"Ok." He nodded, but he couldn't help it, "But..."

"No! I'm not hearing friggin' voices! I was... I was talking to myself, ok?"

"Right," he conceded in a tone that said he was wary and treading carefully.

"And don't talk to me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm gonna explode!"

"I won't bother. You're clearly already exploding," Sam snarked calmly at his brother.

Dean collapsed onto the motel bed, flat on his back with his hands over his face.

Sam came quietly to sit on the edge of his own bed.

"I'm not sure if this is an image thing, or, an 'afraid to commit' kind of thing," Sam started quietly, "but I can't stand watching you do this, Dean. I can't. It literally physically pains me."

Dean peaked out from behind his hands.

Sam saw the opening and continued, "I know how you feel about him even if you won't say it out loud. And you don't have to. I'm not asking you to. But if there's even the chance, that you could be... I don't know, as close to happy as we get, with him..."

Dean sighed heavily. He said, resigned and looking away from Sam toward the opposite wall, "I was a real asshole to him."

Sam nodded. "Tell him why. Say you're sorry. He'll forgive you."

"Thanks Doctor Phil."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he caught his brother glance at him briefly, as if he wished he really could say _Thank you_. Instead what came out was an oddly vulnerable, "What if he doesn't?"

"He will," Sam answered without even having to think.

"How do you know?" Dean shot, doubtful of Sam's certainty.

"God, seriously? You're dense..." Sam sighed. "Because he feels the same way, jackass." There was a long moment of silence where Sam watched his brother very closely as Dean thought that over. Sam offered carefully, "He's only been MIA for two days, and you're miserable."

Dean gave him a dangerous glare that told Sam he was pushing it, but he couldn't help it. He knew his big brother needed some pushing.

"Dean, and I say this as the only person who really knows you and what a self-denying idiot you are - if you don't make this right, you'll regret it. You'll crawl into a bottle and shove it down with everything else until you can pretend it doesn't exist. But you'll never get over it. So for once, for _once_, just..." Sam sighed heavily, "just call him. I'm taking the Impala."

Sam got up heavily, grabbed Dean's keys off the nightstand and stared down at his brother for a moment. He slapped Dean on the knee, a Winchester show of support, and left him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Diner Girl was wiping down a table when she heard the bell for the door jingle. She turned to see six foot four, dreamboat Sam moseying in, the very air around him whispering <em>Complicated<em>. But there was something about him, she blushed to see, that stated clear as day, _Good_. She couldn't help but be glad he was back.

"Hey Ivy, you need some help closing up?" he joked with a smile.

She rolled her eyes at the nick-name, "What're you stalking me?"

"Tryin' to give my brother some space."

She nodded in understanding. "He figuring it out yet?"

"I think maybe," Sam said optimistically. He was pleased when she smiled at that. "I'm hoping he talks to him tonight."

"Well, I was just closing up, but, I have a brand new pot of coffee I'd hate to pour down the drain, if you wanted to-"

"Yeah, sure," he answered a little too quickly. They both smiled.

"Good," she said, "cause you owe me some exposition."

"Huh?" he asked with a confused smile.

She didn't answer, but went to get the coffee. Sam made himself comfortable in his usual booth and soon they were sipping hot coffee and chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"So" she started with a heavy sigh, "I'm the distant descendant of an Ancient Greek God." She nodded at him. "Too bad I can't put that on a resume."

Sam laughed.

"Sometimes I just have to say it out loud," she tells him. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

Sam nodded, understanding.

"You know, I don't really remember a lot about Dionysus from school."

"He's the God of wine," Sam informed.

"I do love a box of wine."

He laughed, shaking his head at her as she shot him a mischievous smirk. "Alright, come on," she started suddenly.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I want the origin story. The whole thing. Because the little snippets I've gathered here and there aren't really painting a complete picture of you and your brother and his secret lover and what exactly you guys do."

"Ah," Sam said nodding, as if he'd expected this. He looked at her and said, "Ok."

"Ok?" she asked surprised. "You're actually gonna tell me? Wow... I thought there'd be more of a fight there."

"Yeah, me too." He hadn't meant to say that, but it was out there now, so he added, "I guess I'm just tired of being a mystery."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Well, let's have it."

Sam took a deep breath, "Ok so, you know how there are people out there who believe in the supernatural?"

She squints at him warily, "Yeah..."

"Well, I'm one of them."

Her eyebrows raised.

"Actually, I don't really have to believe, I just know. Because I've seen it."

She nodded at him continuously, still wary, but almost amused.

"My brother and I, we help people who are dealing with that kind of stuff."

"So... if there's something strange, in the neighborhood, you're who I'm gonna call. If there's something weird, and it don't look good, you're the one I call..."

Sam squinted at her mischievous look and barely contained smile with a furrowed brow.

She smirked, "You ain't afraid of no ghosts."

Then it clicked, and Sam deflated in irritation, biting the inside of his cheek while she laughed, seeing he had gotten the joke.

"_Ghostbusters_!" she sang, and laughed as he shook his head, trying not to let his amusement show.

He tried to be angry, but her laugh was infectious - he was at a loss. _Whose got the lyrics to the Ghostbusters theme filed away, just, at their disposal?_ He cracked a smile.

"Ah - there it is!" she pointed at his smile.

"Very funny," he tried to sound irritated, but his smile wasn't doing much for the tone.

"I'm sorry, but come on. What're you saying to me - that you console people who have been poltergeist-ed?"

"Consolation isn't really what I meant."

She quieted and looked at him closely. "You're not kidding..."

He shook his head.

"Ok..." she said, and Sam could see her visibly trying to wrap her mind around it. "Explain it to me."

Her demand was calm though curious, and she sat there looking at him expectantly. "Wha - really?" He couldn't help but be surprised at her reaction.

"Way i figure it, I can tell you're not a liar, so I don't think you're making it up just to screw with me. So there are two possibilities. Either A, you're a total fruitcake who thinks he hunts ghosts but really just spends his time in some sort of dissociative fugue state where you like, talk to dumpsters and watch too much _Buffy_. Or B, you're actually sane and telling the truth. I haven't decided yet which possibility is more terrifying."

"...Wow."

"My final assessment is yet to come."

He just started at her, in awe.

"Well come on, let me have it."

"O-ok," he settled in his seat and looked at his hands trying to decide where to start. "Ghosts, demons, witches, _angels_ - all that stuff you read about in teen fantasy novels and ancient lore... It's all real."

"Ghosts and witches I can buy. I've already seen the whole, ancient deity thing in action. But... demons?"

"Oh yeah," he took a sip of his coffee. "They're real. And dangerous. And they look just like anybody else, so they can be hard to spot."

She stared at him, enrapt.

"And that's just the _tip_ of the iceberg. There's thousands of things out there you'd never believe were real. All kinds of ancient creatures, pagan gods - from every culture, religion and region of the world."

She nodded, eyes focused on a spot on the table as she worked through this information. "So... what is it you... _do_?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. As if the other proclamations didn't make him seem like a total nut, this next part was sure to do the trick and paint him as a true psychotic. "Mostly, uh... mostly we kill things."

Her eyebrows raised, but she didn't bolt. So Sam took the opportunity to get out as much as he could as fast as he could, hoping to explain it to her before she ran for her life. "My brother Dean and me, we go to places where we know there's something paranormal hurting innocent people and we kill it to save its potential future victims-"

She put up her hand to stop him. "You _kill_ ghosts? And witches. And pagan... monster-things."

He nodded.

"How?"

Again, she'd surprised him, and he just sat there staring at her for a long moment before snapping out of it. "Well, uh, different creatures take different methods to put them down. Usually we have to do a lot of research, find out what the lore says. But, uh.. for ghosts, you have to burn their bones. Then they go, you know, whenever they're supposed to go. And they're gone. And our job is done."

She stared at him a long time. So long it made him uncomfortable and he wanted to ask if she was ok but thought better of it.

"Wow.." she finally said.

He gave an awkward laugh, nervously, waiting for what else she had to say.

"So... what's the point?"

Sam looked at her carefully - this was a test. He knew the answer. "To save as many people as we can."

She gave a hint of a smile. "So you're like... an unsung hero."

He laughed. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

His cheeks grew pink with blush, and she really liked the look of it.

"So," Sam smirked devilishly, "An invisible man, sleeping in your bed. Who ya gonna call?"

She nearly busted out laughing, but held it in. "Definitely you."

* * *

><p>Dean hated himself for the way his hands trembled. How he'd managed to get himself so wrapped around the axle for this angel, he'd never understand. He paced the small motel room, freshly tidied as it was, and took a deep breath. He wished that it would work like breathing in courage, because at that moment he was feeling remarkably like a coward.<p>

But it was time. Time to face the music.

_I can do this. I have to do this._

His talk with Sam had all but convinced him, leaving him feeling like he owed it to himself, and to Cas. But the real clincher, was when he opened the drawer of the bedside table to peer at his special mug (as he often did, several times a day) and found a familiar-looking polaroid resting on top of it.

It wasn't his own, he knew exactly where he'd stashed his precious photograph, and he had the image memorized. This was different, and he realized with a sinking heart, left intentionally by Castiel. He picked it up, his heart thumping in his chest as he examined the image - his own visage, looking hard and unamused, staring at the irritating man behind the camera. And beside him, Castiel - flanking him, just behind his right shoulder, standing guard for him, and looking at Dean as though _he_ were the superior being, as if _he_ wielded all the power and Cas was hopelessly in awe, instead of the other way around.

Dean had never seen anything like it - captured truth.

He noticed beneath it was a second photo, one that he'd forgotten all about - the snapshot of his and Cas' kiss at the Grapevine. He was shocked, at the way he and Cas seemed to fit together, at the way that, even knowing the circumstances in which the photo was taken, it looked so perfectly intimate. It didn't look like two guys necking, it looked like soulmates, fused - like something Annie Liebowitz might have given her right arm to have captured herself.

Dean went to his duffel and got out his own polaroid, the image captured of him awing over Castiel, and he held all three pictures in his hand, his eyes tracing every detail from left to right.

He was certain now, that he had to make things right, or try at least. He had to be honest, now or never.

Of course, the certainty didn't cease the trembling of his hands, which he noticed with a huff as he placed the photographs back in the nightstand.

He balled his hands into fists and cleared his throat, "Cas?" he called quietly.

He rolled his eyes at himself, "C'mon Dean." He clenched his fists harder and used a full voice, "Hey Cas, it's Dean. I uh, I need to talk to you."

He waited for that sound, the whisper of wings and the tingle of the hairs on the back of his neck that would signify the angel's arrival.

But he didn't hear or feel anything.

"Cas, please. I need to... I just..." he pinched the bridge of his nose, collecting his thoughts. "I owe you an apology," he said clearly. "I think... I think I owe you an explanation for why I'm being such a dick." Still, nothing. "Cas please, I feel like an idiot pouring my heart out to the ceiling -"

"I'm here."

Dean gasped, spinning around to see the angel standing stiffly across the room, his eyes cold.

"Geez," Dean clutched his chest. "You're like a friggin' ninja," he joked.

Cas remained still, unamused. He simply stared, in that way he did, and Dean had to look away. Because nothing put him more in his place than looking into those blue eyes and knowing that he'd done wrong.

Dean cleared his throat, feeling the trembling of his hands again. "I'm glad you... I wanted to, uh... Look, I was a real jerk to you, ok? And I know it. And, I thought that you should know, that I know..."

Castiel remained silent.

"Because, I meant what I said when - when we were - after we - I mean, in the fire. And then, I didn't mean what I said the other night. About the...about it not meaning anything."

Castiel gave no indication of being effected whatsoever by his words. Dean could feel a panic rising in himself. He was barely getting a coherent sentence out, and Cas' lack of response oddly wasn't helping.

"Jesus, Cas, gimme something to work with here."

Cas' eyes flared momentarily and Dean stilled. "Perhaps you ought to make yourself clear," Cas offered, his voice low and even. It was a warning, of sorts.

"I'm just, trying to say I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

"But not for _what_ you said. Merely for _how_ you said it," Cas questioned sharply.

"Yeah - No! I'm trying to-"

"You're trying to alleviate your guilt. Of course Dean. Allow me to help you, _I forgive your harsh tone with me_. There. Now you may carry on with your days free of our encounter."

"Now wait -"

"I will not. I will not waste another moment standing here while you prostrate yourself at my feet, while you lie to yourself and to me. I told the truth Dean. Do us both a favor, don't grovel."

"I'm trying to tell the truth right now, if you'd quit being such a bitch and listen to me!"

Castiel stepped forward and Dean had the decency at least not to back away like a frightened child. He stood his ground, even if every instinct in his body was screaming red alert at him for pissing off an angel.

Somehow he never could stop himself from kicking the Holy wasps nest. And Castiel was certainly buzzing now.

"Why do you suppose the truth is so difficult for you to come by?" Cas growled.

And Dean could say nothing. He merely glared at the angel, his every muscle shaking, twitching to either hit Castiel, or kiss him.

"Why is it so impossible for you," Cas started, low and gravelly, "to stand with me on this? To follow my lead, just once?"

"It's not that simple," Dean growled back.

"It is, Dean."

"No, Cas, it's not."

"Why?"

"Because-"

"Why!"

"You scare the crap out of me Cas, alright!"

"Dean, don't patronize me." His voice made it apparent how livid he truly was. "I have never known you to be afraid of anything, least of all _me_."

"Well, times have changed I guess," Dean answered wryly.

Castiel leaned back, so he wasn't quite so in Dean's face, and stared at the man empirically.

And then, his eyes softened.

Dean's stomach flipped in the silence, in the wake of what he'd said.

"I know that you feel for me," Castiel admitted, his voice soft like Dean had never heard before. "I know that you lied to me, when you said it meant nothing."

Dean's eyes shot down to the floor. He very noticeably did not disagree.

"Then why?" Castiel pleaded for an answer.

"Because -" Dean lifted his eyes to see Castiel's, so blue, so desperate for an explanation, for the truth for _once_.

And so, for once, Dean gave it.

His voice was barely a rasp, but it was strong enough, "Because you could really destroy me."

Cas' brow furrowed and he tilted his head at Dean like he really didn't understand.

Dean couldn't stop now. The truth was out, the wall around his heart, around the truth of his feelings, was fizzling away, and it wasn't coming back up - not in time.

"You're the only one," Dean admitted, his voice shaking, barely audible. "If I let it go all the way, if I give in all the way - I won't be able to protect myself. I don't know how you did it Cas - you worked your way into every part of me, and now - it's hopeless. If I let you in, I would live every day of my life with the knowledge that you are fully capable of crushing me, completely - because we had it, the real thing, and I lost that... I just, I don't think I can..."

"Dean," that familiar, distinct gravelly voice suddenly sounded...odd. It shook in a way, pitched higher than usual, but still strong. "Don't you imagine that goes both ways?"

And the look on Dean's face, like he really hadn't imagined it, almost fractured Cas' heart.

"You are the one man for whom I would lay down everything. My life. My purpose. And now, I fear, something even deeper." Cas took a steadying breath and continued, "I have spent a long time being afraid of giving myself over, to one thing or another. A long time - fighting desire, or doubt. The minute I met you it all started to change. You, started to change me. I hated you for it, in the beginning. But I see now, I finally see," his blue eyes pierced Dean, searching and, to Cas' relief, finding in Dean what he was hoping for. "There is a kind of bliss, in giving in. In giving yourself over. A reckless, insouciant kind of willingness that brings a deeper pleasure, a more profound joy," his voice shook and his eyes shone desperately and Dean could barely breathe. Cas' eyes pleaded with him, to understand. "I have spent enough time denying myself what I want. As have you." He touched trembling fingertips to Dean's jawline, his heart jumping when Dean's eyelids fluttered for the briefest moment, his eyebrows drawing together. Castiel, stood before Dean, entirely resolved. "If you destroy me, so be it."

That statement, that proclamation, was all it took. It finally clicked in Dean's brain. The blissful abandon Cas spoke of suddenly made sense. He understood. The power of the thing, of what they had, it was always going to have a price.

Cas was _it_ for him - the one, with all the power over him. But Dean realized now, he was Cas' one too - he held Cas' very existence in his hands. It was powerful, almost too heady to wrap his mind around. But he knew, more clearly now than ever, if he truly gave in, he would never regret it.

He would never hurt Cas. And Cas, would do the same. Castiel would never, could never, bear to destroy him. He simply knew so.

That was the trust Dean had always failed to grasp.

But he did now.

He smiled, letting all of the tension he'd been holding since he'd met the angel release with a long, deep sigh, leaving him feeling lighter than he had since he was a boy. "_Insouciant_, huh?" he joked, his voice barely a whisper.

Cas' head tilted, his eyes deep, darkly concerned at the lack of depth to Dean's response. Dean smiled, glad that he could still throw him off, and reveling in finally allowing himself to appreciate how beautiful the angel was without holding back. Cas' eyebrows drew together, seeing Dean's smile, and glad for it, but not quite ready yet to give that sigh of relief. He was suspended over a precipice, once again waiting for Dean's word to either damn him or pull him into shared bliss.

Dean's eyes met his, and Castiel could see something had shifted, something had changed.

"Ok," was all Dean could manage, breathy and accompanied by a frantic nodding. "Ok."

Castiel huffed out a breath he seemed to have been holding for years, a true smile breaking out across his face. Dean felt Cas breathe that sigh of relief, and was oddly proud of himself. Now that the deal was sealed, he was excited. Terrified, but excited.

They were in it together. For real now. Together.

* * *

><p><strong>You guys knew all along I wasn't gonna leave them all distraught forever, didn't you? <strong>**Alas, you know me too well. **

**I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you liked it.**


	17. Hierarchical Miscommunication

**Behold, an upgrade in Rating. **

**I say _upgrade_, because it sounds better than "I added some truly pornographic content"...**

**Which I did.**

* * *

><p>Hierarchical Miscommunication.<p>

Sam couldn't help but notice the change in his brother's demeanor since he'd spoken to Cas and resolved their... miscommunication. It had been months since Dean had been so solid - hell, years even. Dean's mood swings had dissipated along with the hair-trigger, directionless anger. He wasn't snapping at anyone. He was back to enjoying simple things and joking around, easily amused, easily contented.

Sam was nearly in awe.

It had been so long since he'd seen the carefree, life-lusting Dean from his childhood. It made the younger brother sickeningly happy. Granted, he rarely saw the source of Dean's happiness first hand. Castiel seemed to be keeping his perpetual reappearances a private thing. Sam couldn't say he minded - he was glad Dean was happy, that was enough, he didn't need to see the cause with his own eyes. And Dean had come full-circle and accepted how much he loved Cas, sure. But they still seemed more comfortable on the down-low.

Dean would say he was going out and disappear to wherever angels take their dates. _Anywhere on earth I guess_, Sam figured. All day before a scheduled rendezvous with his angel, Dean would be goofing off and full of spastic energy. And when Dean would return from their encounters, he would would be calm, strangely at peace, ghost of a smile on his lips. Sometimes said lips would be a little red, swollen, but Sam tried not to dwell too much on that.

Dean seemed honestly content.

All in all, Sam was more than glad for Dean's apparent happiness. And not only because it put his brother in more of a flexible mood when Sam asked to stay _one more day_. And then, _just a few more days_. And then _just another week_...

With both of them so happy, Dean simply didn't have it in him to ruin the good thing they had going.

Dean and Cas' relationship was building into something more solid than anything Dean had ever had before - than either of them had. Solid, and reliable, and definite, and Dean was not ashamed to admit (to himself) unabashedly sexy.

Granted, they hadn't taken that final step, but they were handsy like a couple of newlyweds. Cas seemed fascinated with the idea of manipulating Dean's body, a pleasure and a power he never knew he possessed. And Dean found it difficult to be in the same room with the angel without groping him nearly to death.

Their admission of love had them in a sort of joy and lust-filled nirvana that had the rest of the world lagging in the background as something unimportant and willing to wait.

The first time Dean couldn't control himself from going further than kissing and heavy petting, he'd woken up from a particularly vivd dream of the angel - all fierce smoke and electric blue eyes and beautiful killer's grace. Dean barely waited until his boots were on before calling to the angel, rushing outside the motel room past a sleeping Sam to greet him. Castiel appeared, a slight smile on his lips, and Dean surged forward without warning, knocking the angel against the wall of the motel and claiming his mouth in a frenzied, near-violent kiss. Castiel simply melted into it, biting and groping back.

As Dean's lips and teeth made a warm trail down the angel's pale throat, as he'd dreamed of for so long, he groaned, shoving a leg between Castiel's thighs.

Castiel's hands were working Dean's belt and jeans undone before Dean could muster the will to mention they were still out in public. But in a moment it was forgotten when almost as an afterthought Cas pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead and instantly they were somewhere new. Dean didn't bother to look around - his senses told him they were indoors, and alone. That was all he needed to know.

Their hands reached desperately inside shirts, fingers skating up backs and shoulders and down ribcages and torsos - there was no time for the process of removing clothes. Dean dragged his palms up and down Cas' skin; his body was smooth, but firm, utterly strong. All sinewy muscle and flat planes. Utterly male. Dean never thought he would get to feel that. He never thought he'd want to.

Man, was he wrong...

He bit down on Castiel's collarbone and the angel groaned, practically ripping open Dean's jeans and underwear. As Castiel's hand wrapped around him and pulled him out of his painfully restrictive underwear, Dean realized he was falling woefully behind. He worked Cas' belt free and his pants undone with sole focus, only slowing when he reached inside and pulled him free. Dean felt the organ in his hand, not unlike his own, hard and hot - it was strange to feel. New.

He smirked against Cas' skin, _At least I know what to do_. When he squeezed and Cas groaned, Dean watched, bit his bottom lip and Cas' eyes flared. He pulled Dean in for a searing kiss and they worked each other frantically to the finish, bucking against each other roughly, holding on for dear life.

Their frenzied explosion had them collapsing, breathless, against each other, chuckling slightly in their euphoria as well as at the suddenness of the whole thing.

"That was extremely enjoyable," Cas could barely get out between gasps. The always-flat and blatant tone of his voice made Dean laugh even harder and Cas smiled.

* * *

><p>Later Dean showed up at the motel with coffees and breakfast sandwiches just in time for Sam to get out of the shower. The presentation of breakfast made the question of where Dean had been unwarranted. But there was something about the smile on Dean's face, the bizarrely ecstatic and sated glow about him, that had Sam wondering anyway. But he let it go. He took a sip of the coffee, humming appreciatively.<p>

"Im going over to Vee's place," he told Dean, rifling through the take-out bag. "The one she inherited."

"_Vee_?" Dean cocked and eyebrow at Sam. "How many girls you got in this town?"

"What? oh - no. Vee, like Ivy. You didn't think I was gonna call her _Diner Girl_ forever, did you?"

Dean shrugged. "I probly am." Sam rolled his eyes and Dean muttered, "_Ivy_..."

"Yeah," Sam smiled like an idiot, "it's kind of a joke, you know? 'cause-"

"Yeah, no, I get it," Dean said. They'd already had this conversation. _Twice_. Sam seemed to never tire of saying it over again, and Dean's tone obviously mocked him for it.

Sam glared at his brother, knowing full well that Dean was giving him the mockery-eyes, for getting all stupid over her. So Sam straightened up as tall as he could and headed to the door. "Give Cas a kiss for me," he said smugly. He smiled when Dean was no longer amused.

Sam took the Impala and headed to Ivy's house, smiling the whole way and straight-out grinning when she jumped down the stairs and practically leapt into his arms to kiss him. Sam held her tight, loving the feel of it, and then looked up at the house - it was a total mess, in an architecturally interesting, ScoobyDoo mystery house kind of way. Gorgeous in its day, he imagined, but barely livable now.

She must have read the expression on his face, "I know. It's a wreck." Sam gave a tentative nod in agreement. "How much do you know about carpentry?" she asked.

"Uh...about as much as the next guy. Assuming that guy's not a carpenter. Why?"

"Look, if you wanted to stick around a few weeks, if you needed work, I inherited this old place along with everything else of my grandmother's and, it could really use some... repairs."

She blushed, and Sam's heart skipped a beat, knowing exactly what she was asking, what she was offering - the chance to stay. He wanted to take it.

It was going to take some expert convincing to get Dean to agree...

* * *

><p>The Winchesters had been putting their vast know-how to use in repairing Ivy's inherited old house, bringing it up to code as best they knew how, making it livable again. And while they did, they squatted there. This meant no more money lost to the motel, and a safe place to call their own, if even for an undetermined amount of time.<p>

Dean liked the old place. It had a lot of character. It reminded him of Bobby's house - grand in its way, but utterly abused. Very lived in.

Dean would wander through the house most nights, making a mental list of things that needed work, things he'd like to change, renovations he would like to see happen. Creative ideas for making the place his own. His list was easily maintained with no Sam there to distract him, as he was essentially with Ivy every night in her little mobile home.

Dean was making his nightly rounds when he came to his favorite room - he always saved the best for last. It was a truly bizarre construct, this room. For all intents and purposes it was a deck, but it was enclosed with three walls, so that it was also mostly an inside room. But with one wall missing, it was open to the world - intentionally.

On the end with no wall was a deck-like portion that jutted out from the side of the house a few feet, and was lined with a waist-high railing. Dean had never seen such a thing, as though the creator of the house could not bear to hide away the beautiful view of the outside by putting up a fourth wall. Of course, with the lack of upkeep, the direct access to the elements had done serious damage to the rest of the room, but Dean thought it was an understandable trade-off - fresh air, the feeling of freedom, but still in a home you can call your own.

He rested his beer on the unfinished wood of the railing, watching the beads of condensation slide down the glass and gather at its base, while he smiled to himself as he thought about gigantic Sam trying to be suave with his lady in her tiny tin can of a mobile home.

_He must feel like a grizzly bear in a mini-cooper_.

The telltale whoosh of wings, brought Dean's smile out even more. He turned, leaning back against the railing lazily, watching Castiel intentionally ignore him and flick through a book about proper electrical wiring - something Sam had insisted on referencing during their renovations.

Dean said nothing, he merely watched the angel, and waited for him to speak first. He waited, for Castiel to upturn his blue eyes and find Dean smirking back wickedly, utterly suggestive.

He did. And he smiled.

Dean shot up his eyebrows, smirking.

"I have been considering something very deeply," Castiel stated factually.

"That right?" Dean asked.

"We should have sex."

The way he said it, like he was suggesting they go to the mini-mart, was enough to catch Dean off-guard. Dean's eyebrows raised.

Castiel clarified, "Now, if at all possible."

"What like..._right_ now?"

"I see no reason not to."

"Wow. ...Ok. Wow."

"You're surprised?"

"_No_. Yes. I don't know, maybe a little."

Castiel stepped forward, getting that look on his face that he did when he was about to drop some important knowledge on Dean. He leveled out his expression and voice and said, "The thought of your naked body, bared for me, brings me immense sexual joy."

Dean's eyebrows had essentially gone as high as the structure of his face would allow, but that didn't mean they didn't try to jump even higher out of instinct. Cas sure had a blatant way about him.

"Cas, people don't...really talk like that."

"I'm not a person."

"Too true."

"I mean to say, that I find your physical form very pleasing. I am very attracted to you. And the thought of touching you brings me a great deal of pleasure."

"Got it."

"I... anticipate a time when that might happen. ...Soon."

Dean swallowed hard. "Well... I'm a now or never kinda guy, so..."

Castiel smirked. Something glinted in his eye, beautiful and dangerous. He took a step toward the hunter and Dean threw up a hand, stopping the angel dead.

"But look, there are some things we need to work out before we get to it. Cause I've never done this with another dude before, and I don't know what your freaky, angelic expectations are. But I have some limitations that should be pretty obvious to you. You know... just... things I'm not gonna do. So, I just need to know that you get that."

"I'm aware of your physical limitations Dean."

"Good. No - wait - that's not what I'm talking about. I don't mean physical, human limitations. I meant... _expectations_, like, how you think this is goin' down... position-wise..."

Cas waited for an explanation.

Dean added, flustered, "I need to know this before the pants start coming off because I am not gonna be ok with this if all the sudden you think you're the top."

Castiel tilted his head. "Is it customary to pre-arrange such things? I had assumed sexual positions were decided more... in the moment."

"Well... yeah... but, I'm not talking about..." Dean stopped for a moment, wondering how far from being on the same page they actually were. "I mean more, who's giving and who's receiving."

Castiel stared at him.

"You know, who's riding and who's getting ridden."

Castiel blinked.

"Which one of us is getting the raw end of the stick," Dean implied roughly.

Again Castiel simply stared, waiting for a clear explanation.

Dean's frustration built at an alarming rate. He knew he was going to have to be very clear. Now he just had to consider whether he should be technical and detached about it, or flat out crass.

He had just formulated a kind of analogy with snakes and holes in the ground before Castiel's face suddenly lit with understanding. Dean was relieved not to have to embarrass himself further.

"I understand," Cas assured.

Dean breathed a breath of relief.

And then Cas clarified, "It is my intention to penetrate you."

Dean choked, "You - wha- _me_?"

"I find I am quite enthralled with the idea."

"Woah! Sorry, buddy. Access denied." Castiel frowned in confusion. "What i'm trying to say is, my backdoor is an exit only."

"That is... troublesome," Castiel noted, his voice deep and gravelly, his brow furrowed in consideration.

"Now _you_ look surprised. How did you think this was going to work? I mean if anyone's gonna be topping -"

"I had assumed it would be me," he stated calmly, looking down towards the floor in deep concentration.

Dean felt his whole body, every inch of his skin, get hot. "You..._assumed_?" he barely breathed, his teeth gnashing. And for the record, it wouldn't be until later that Dean sat down and examined whether he was angry, or turned on. Strangely, his reactions to those two separate states were frighteningly similar.

"Yes. I was under the impression that the dominant member of a male/male relationship is the one that penetrates the submissive partner."

Dean choked at the phrasing but ultimately there was more to be concerned about than Cas' entirely offensive word choice.

Dean fumed, more than slightly put-off by the technical description but mostly livid over Cas' assumption that he wore the pants in this arrangement. Dean knew it wasn't that simple and that he should explain that to poor, oblivious, adorable Cas. But he was blindsided by the feeling that his masculinity was being obliterated by a thousand year old virgin with wings.

_Son of a bitch_, Dean shook, _if anyone's wearing the pants it's friggin' me!_

His voice came out tight and shaky, "And you think you're the dominant one?" he questioned dangerously, seething.

"Yes. Obviously," Cas stated matter-of-factly, oblivious to Dean's change of mood.

Dean couldn't speak - he was too enraged... and slighted...and trying way too hard not to overreact to manage forming words.

Cas turned to face him, suddenly sensing his distress in the silence.

"I am exponentially stronger physically. I believe that is a trait most commonly associated with dominance."

"So what, I'm _weak_?" Dean argued, trapping Castiel with these words, knowing exactly what he would say.

_Dean, he's an angel - he kicks your ass any way you slice it. Just back off. _

But he couldn't. If there was one thing Dean was consistent about, it was his near desperate need to prove himself - to everyone, all the time.

Cas tilted his head, considering, then answering rationally, "Relatively speaking, in comparison to my angelic power, yes."

"Ok, you know what," Dean reared back to throw a punch, but the angel disappeared before he could manage it.

"There is no competition based on physical strength in which you could beat me, Dean," his gravelly voice came from behind Dean. And if Dean shuddered a bit at the words, it was none of Cas' business. He didn't have time to examine that particular kink right now. He was livid.

_Just let it go Dean. you know he doesn't mean it like that._

_Screw him! I'll kick his ass!_

"Screw you, Cas!"

He stormed away from the angel with the intent of having a dramatic exit, hating himself for acting like a slighted teenaged girl.

But suddenly Cas was in front of him, blocking his path. "You're angry," his head tilted as he squinted, looking at Dean as if he were trying to break the man down into a mathematical equation that he could solve. "You're angry at _me,_" he corrected, specifying.

And Dean could feel his shoulders let go of their tension and his fists unclench. That stupid face, those big, stupid eyes, that stupid, ridiculous, sincere, longing, _stupid_ gaze...

Dean pointed a finger at Cas, he meant to say_ I'm not submissive_ but what came out was, "I am _not_ weak."

Castiel's brow furrowed at the man in fascination. "Dean, if there's anyone in this world you don't need to convince of your valor, it's me."

Cas looked at Dean as if it was so obviously true, that Dean should definitely have already known. And Dean could feel a familiar warmth seeping through his abdomen, spreading through his limbs and leaving him a hot, confused mess.

Seeing he was making headway, Castiel continued with his efforts. "Despite my many obvious advantages, I would have to say that objectively speaking, were the establishment of dominance based solely on the appearance of one's vessel, I believe that you would win."

Dean took a moment to consider what was happening - Cas appeared to be making a concession, just to make Dean feel better. Dean played along, asking intentionally dumbly, "What're you saying, that I'm taller?"

"You are taller yes. And very imposing," Cas flattered obviously.

It was nice at least, that Cas _thought_ he could be subtle. But Dean liked knowing he was trying. So he held in his smile and let Cas continue, prompting, "So I _look_ strong?"

"You are very masculine and possess a multitude of alpha qualities that would make you a clear winner in the category of dominance... were I not here."

Dean couldn't help but smile at that, despite the stinger of an ending to the compliment. He found it oddly easy to ignore that bit.

"So basically, if you weren't an Angel..." he stepped in close to Castiel, stretching up to his tallest height, "I'd kick your ass."

Castiel failed at masking a smirk. "It seems logical."

"So superpowers excluded," he circled around behind Castiel, keeping his voice low, "I could do whatever I wanted with you."

"I would hope you would exert your power respectfully," Cas played along.

"You'd _hope_." Dean whispered at the back of Cas' neck, seeing him shiver.

But like a flash, Castiel was gone and Dean's eyes darted around the room, disappointed.

"Luckily for me," shivers rolled down Dean's spine as that gravelly voice whispered lowly behind him, "_I_ don't have to hope." He pressed his lips close to the shell of Dean's ear, his breath hot on Dean's skin, "_You_ do."

And Cas' hands were tight on Dean's hips, his body pressed up behind him and his lips sucking firmly at the crook of Dean's neck and Dean could have pulled away and argued and the struggle could have continued...

But instead, Dean just relaxed back into the angel and thought, _Fuck it_.

* * *

><p><strong>...<strong>

* * *

><p>Identity Crisis.<p>

So here was Dean Winchester's newest existential dilemma:

If he was the kind of guy who took it in the back door, could he still like AC/DC?

There was a rational part of Dean's brain that told him he was being closed-minded. That people didn't fit into categories like that; that people, human beings, were endlessly complex. He could like Cas and Rock and Roll and still make sense as a person. But there was a lifetime of social programming and general misconception to fight. And Dean was nothing if not stubborn.

Dean wondered if Sam could tell there was something different about him. For some reason he felt paranoid, like everyone who saw him knew what he'd done, as if there was a big neon sign above his head flashing_ Got Fucked in the Ass by an Angel Last Night!_.

It wasn't the having sex with an angel part that Dean was preoccupied about, it was the fact that apparently, Dean Winchester was a bottom. He shifted uncomfortably at the sound of it - the label. He felt like he was different now, somehow, because he'd let that happen. Like he shouldn't be able to carry himself the same. Like he wasn't the same Dean he always was, didn't fit in his own skin, or personality. He knew that was absurd, but being a fraction rational didn't stop the irrational lost and awkward feeling.

Sam seemed to treat him the same, so Dean almost felt like he should be breathing a sigh of relief. Sam knew him better than anyone, he would sense easily if something was different, wrong in any way. Apparently he didn't.

Something inside Dean was almost... disappointed, that Sam didn't know.

And that was thoroughly confusing.

Because mostly he was terrified everyone would know and that they would all judge him... but this tiny little part of him was wishing he could tell Sam (not in detail, and probably not in so many words), if only so that he could gage his brother's reaction.

What would Sam think of this new... development? Would he applaud Dean's obvious acceptance of his feelings for Cas? Would he think Dean was weak? Would he be surprised, or even disgusted with him?

No. Not disgusted. Sam wasn't like that.

Dean sanded the banister absently, wondering: Should he be disgusted with himself? What did Cas think? Did he even know this was an Earth-crackingly big deal for a guy like Dean?

Probably not.

He heard Cas' voice echo in his head, _I'd never wish to hurt you Dean._ He shivered, feeling his whole body flush with warmth at the memory of the way those words had felt last night, as breath against his skin.

Last night had been... well... It had hurt. At first.

It had hurt and Dean had winced and stiffened up despite himself, his knuckles going white at the iron grip he had on the railing. Castiel slid out, feeling Dean wince even if he didn't see it, and leaned his body up against Dean's, resting his forehead against the back of Dean's head.

"Does it hurt?" he'd whispered.

And Dean's voice came back tight, "It's fine."

But it wasn't. Neither of them had known to how to prepare properly, both entirely ignorant, as Dean had just changed teams and Cas was generally oblivious. He had a basic, scientific knowledge that his bashful Angelic brain had failed to put to practical use. So it did hurt, even if Dean was too stubborn to ask Cas to stop.

But Castiel, he could tell. He slid his hands from their grip on Dean's hips around to his front, sliding lightly across his warm, tension-hardened skin of Dean's chest and stomach. He rested one hand over Dean's heart, and the other over the scar of his own handprint. When his hand sealed over the burn mark he felt Dean's heart jump.

"I'd never wish to hurt you Dean," he whispered against the back of his neck.

Dean shuddered, an almost painful surge of affection pulling at his heart.

Something must have clicked in Castiel's mind, because he slid out and moments later a slicked finger replaced him, gentle and stretching. And Dean was silent in his thanks but he thought maybe Castiel could hear it anyway. And when there was a second finger, it only burned, a foreign pressure, but oddly Dean was able to relax.

And then Cas reached inside, just right, and Dean didn't have time to mock himself about Cas _flipping the gay switch_ inside him before he gasped a surprised moan and his hips jerked of their own volition. Cas added another finger, and it hurt but Dean was so revved up with anticipation to feel whatever he'd just felt again that he didn't care. And Cas didn't keep him waiting. He kissed up and down Dean's spine as he stroked inside of him.

Neither of them had the patience to wait very long before getting on to the main event - this had been _years_ in the making, after all. Castiel slid into him carefully, clutching at Dean's body with trembling hands as he did. Blowing hot breath against his neck. The care he took, the appreciation for every inch, every sensation, boggled Dean's mind. All he could do was grip the railing tight and breathe through it, and hope his heart didn't explode.

Dean smiled to himself, knowing that despite his body's confusion and discomfort, it was worth it (in a possessive kind of a way) to feel Cas, feeling this for the first time. The angel was trembling against his back, grunting his name like some obscene prayer, nuzzling his face into Dean's hair and neck... rolling his hips smoothly.

Dean was oddly content with the gentle rhythm they reached, slow and easy. But something, some kind of instinct Castiel didn't understand, told him to search for that spark inside Dean. He held the man's hips a little harder and pressed his chest to Dean's back, bending him over a little, and like this he could sink deeper. He was careful in doing so, he didn't want to hurt Dean. A low groan escaped him despite his efforts as he sank in to the hilt, and it was then, the bulk of him rubbed that something inside the man.

Castiel could feel Dean's knees buckle slightly beneath him a surprised breathy sound spurting from the man before he could think to stifle it. Simultaneously Dean reached back, his arm wrenching as if on instinct and sudden, desperate need, and he gripped the hair at the back of Castiel's head tightly, as his own head bowed and his other hand gripped the railing so hard his white knuckles ached and for a split-second he thought he might snap the wood.

He shuddered a moment, his eyes squeezing closed, before the feeling subsided in its sharpness to a dull, aching pleasure. Then he breathed deep, rasping, "What the fuck was _that_?"

Castiel chuckled into the nape of Dean's neck and Dean felt his heart could bust. A sudden, sharp pleasure similar to the last seared through him - but less sexual, less bodily and more metaphysical. The pleasure was... God help him, but it felt like love. Dean's heart had been through Hell with this Angel in the past he didn't know how long. He figured he must have loved Castiel for years, if not somehow always. His heart thudding and wrenching at the Angel's every reappearance, every almost-smile, every sincerely regretful statement of the desire to help. And now Dean had him. And they were both so stupidly happy about it.

It was too much for Dean's _wait for the other shoe to drop_-worn heart to take. It seemed to crack open and bleed satisfaction through his whole chest cavity. Maybe this was what his heart was trying to tell him all along -

_Things would be better with Castiel, you'll _feel_ better with Castiel - everything will._

As the Angel rocked smoothly into him, taking obvious care to hit that same spot that made Dean's knees weak, Dean couldn't help but resign to the fact.

Dean blinked, realizing he'd stopped sanding the banister entirely and was just standing there, lost in the memory. Remembering the way he was last night made him blush thoroughly. He tried not to remember how he would writhe back against Cas - his fingers first, and then the rest of him. He was a little embarrassed about it now. In the moment he'd lost all his facade and broken down into a whiny, needy, pliant thing for Cas to play with, to do what he pleased with. And even though he was embarrassed, he couldn't deny the smile fighting to get to his lips at the memory of it.

And Cas was so good... and so good _to_ him. He was slow and sensual to a degree that Dean didn't expect, and his lips were all over Dean as if he were worshipping him through touch. He whispered and grunted, low and raspy against Dean's back and neck and even though Dean didn't know what he was saying, it made him feel good to hear it.

And when Cas came, Dean could feel it pulsing hot inside him, strange but intoxicating, and Cas wrapped his arms around Dean tightly, clutching with desperate, trembling fingers as he ground against him, riding it out. Dean could feel Castiel's eyelashes against his back as the angel pressed his face, no doubt screwed up with pleasure, into the valley between his shoulderblades.

The way he sighed and moaned... Dean listened harder than he ever had before in his life, committing every sound Castiel made to memory, letting it wash over him until he almost couldn't take it.

Dean worked himself furiously as Cas finished, until Cas reached a bonelessly heavy but determined arm around and wrapped his hand around Dean, alternating between watching Dean's face and kissing his shoulders as he helped Dean to the finish. Dean grunted a string of expletives and _Cas, Cas, Cas,_ as he came, and then collapsed over the railing, humming as Cas' lips trailed up and down his back, his hands brushing over his back and shoulders and arms - everywhere they could reach.

Dean didn't even mind the feeling of the railing against his back when Castiel flipped him around and claimed his lips almost viciously. If he was being honest, he kind of liked it. Cas didn't treat him like he was the breakable human he was. He treated him like a fix he couldn't get enough of. And that made Dean feel good.

* * *

><p>All day Dean had been struggling with the emotional ramifications of having to either re-label himself, or come to terms with the fact that labels were useless. Of course, without the clearly defined black and white labels, life became a mess, Dean knew that for a fact.<p>

By the end of the day, Dean decided that his life was such a mess already, why not throw the labels out the window and just let things be blurry. He actually felt kind of relieved. He was excited about a new outlook, even if he was also terrified. He couldn't really imagine himself as _Dean, the modern man_. He'd always figured he was a _stuck in a different generation_ kind of guy.

But hey, now that he was throwing out labels, he could be a little bit of both.

Honestly he was kind of proud of himself. And it made him need Cas desperately. He wasn't quite ready to unload all of this on Sam yet - though Sam, no doubt, would handle it spectacularly. Dean might be a new kind of man, but that didn't mean he was ready for everyone to know it yet.

Still, he had to share his new happiness, his worldliness, his new and improved self with _someone_, and he wanted that someone to be Cas.

When Sam had indicated that he was going to spend the night at Ivy's place, Dean was happy for him, and also for the time alone he would get with Cas.

As soon as the angel whisked into the room Dean's smile was unstoppable. When he immediately ran up to the angel and hugged him tightly, Castiel was only half as surprised at the behavior as Dean himself. Dean was a little bashful about his giddiness, but seeing the curious smile that was lit on Cas' face made it worth the embarrassment.

He barely let go of the angel all night, and he couldn't help but mock himself for being clingy. But Cas' acknowledgement of Dean's new behavior only made Dean glad he'd behaved as such.

"I like this. I like when you're like this," Cas muttered into Dean's shoulder as they stood, embracing beside their mini-stove waiting for their food to cook after they'd worked up an appetite. Thoroughly. Cas' arms were looped loosely around Dean, his fingers trailing barely-touching circular patterns at the base of Dean's spine.

Dean didn't have to say _Me too_, somehow he knew that when he flexed his hold against Cas' hips and kissed the angel's shoulder that Cas understood.

It was more contentment than Dean had ever known. And he was determined, more now than ever, to keep it, this perfect happiness, forever.

* * *

><p><strong>I always get nervous about posting the racy chapters. Not nervous enough to stop me, clearly. Ha. But still, I hope it worked, and I hope you liked it.<strong>

**We are in the homestretch here people...**

**One more...**


	18. The Start

**I am SO sorry for the delay - roadblocks beyond my control! Screw bronchitis. Right in the face, as Dean would say.**

**So, little ducklings, we're coming to a close so let me just say, THANK YOU so much to all of you who commented, favorited, subscribed, etc. The support means the world to me and I appreciate it so much - more than you know. ****You guys are so awesome for sharing the love.**

**I really hope you enjoy the final (no I wasn't getting choked up... I was just... clearing my throat. There's... dander... *ahem*) chapter. Maybe a little choppy, but i like it anyway. And hey - who's running this thing! **

* * *

><p>The Start.<p>

Dean had one goal, one intention, and that was to make certain that what he had found with Castiel, would not be taken from him. Or, ruined _by_ him. He'd had the doubts and uncertainties, simmering in his blood, from day one - good things didn't last long in Dean's experience. But he was determined to make that streak break for him and Cas.

For the past couple weeks he'd had it in his mind to ask the Angel for something more, a promise of continuation, in no uncertain terms. But he had yet to pull the trigger. Something inside Dean, despite knowing, like he knew how to breathe, like he knew Sam was his brother, that Castiel loved him, possessed that irrational fear of being left.

Dean wanted, desperately, a confirmation that this happiness wasn't temporary, that Cas planned, as Dean prayed he would, for this to be permanent. He wanted to tell Cas once and for all, that this was it for him. That Dean friggin' Winchester was ready to be monogamous.

Dean was ready to utter... the L word.

_Right. Then I'll just go grow a uterus and get highlights..._

Despite the heaviness of his heart when thinking about the possibility that Cas may be too rational, too pragmatic to sign his heart away forever and not just for one today at a time, Dean was the happiest he'd ever been. He'd been alone so long, that he'd forgotten he was lonely. He'd forgotten a lot of things.

Like how it felt to have someone to look forward to, to have someone get you completely, to have someone to share secret knowing looks with (even when around others), to have someone to wake up beside, to have someone who simply allows you to rant even though your outrage is most likely ridiculous.

Dean, if he ever knew, had forgotten what that was like.

But Cas was reminding him.

Ever since they'd completely given in to this thing they had, Cas was having his own fun too, playing a little game with Dean's excitable heart. He seemed fascinated with the bodily effect he could have on Dean, and was all too eager to find out what caused his stuttered heartbeats to occur, what made it flutter even more. Castiel would pop in unannounced, per usual, and gage Dean's responses. Sometimes simply seeing the angel was enough to cause Dean's heart to flutter. But Castiel, ever the student, was eager to experiment more. Sometimes he would appear in bed beside Dean, or in the car with him, or would make himself silent until he gripped Dean from behind, hard, by the hips and pressed his lips to the crook of his neck, scraping his teeth across the skin, sending the poor man's heart into summersaults.

In some ways it was a near-clinical study of their situation. Castiel was loving being a scholar in the subject of Dean Winchester.

It was also a selfish side of Castiel that he himself had never seen before - wanting to use Dean for his own pleasure, wanting him all to himself. And it was wrought with a mischief he never thought he possessed. But even Castiel knew that when Dean looked at him, he could see the glint in the angel's eye as he got off on knowing what he could do to the man.

Dean, for the record, was torn between wanting to tell Cas to fuck off for playing with him like a pet, like some kind of ragdoll...

and begging him never to stop.

Frankly, it was a bizarre but fascinating new experience for the Hunter. No one had ever studied him so in depth, so slowly and expertly, taking their time to learn every little thing that makes _him_ tick, that makes _his_ breath hitch and heart flutter.

It was enough to occupy his mind, to keep him from wanting to talk about the fact that they were _still_ in the same nowhere town ignoring the fact that evil existed out there in the world.

There had been a particularly hard day, where Dean's cabin fever and restlessness had rioted to an apex in the wake of he and Sam staying put for longer than they ever had before. Dean had yelled and fought with Sam and panicked over growing roots into this strange little town that was fusing itself to his soul, turning the place into _home_ one disasterless day at a time. He was starting to love the place, the house, the people in town, odd though they were. They had been through something truly bizarre together and it had melded them into more of a community, a family of people who'd seen each other at their weirdest and decided not to hold it against each other.

People who accepted that he and Sam had to remain somewhat of a closed book and didn't ask any more about them than was friendly.

People who accepted he and Cas (the rumors of their public kiss had spread like wildfire through the dusty rural town) and found no reason to make things difficult for them.

Overall, Dean and Sam were actually fitting in for once.

Everything was becoming far too comfortable for Dean. Naturally, he freaked out.

He exploded one day, out of the blue, yelling at his brother about what the Hell they were doing there, and that they had a job to do... Sam of course argued that they'd done enough. He argued that their happiness should be their next job.

The hardest one yet, no doubt.

Dean didn't really have a good response to that. His panic, his motive for this fight, it was all blatantly obvious. Sam shook his head with a sigh as his brother stormed out of the old house.

Dean always did have a hard time letting himself be happy.

Storming down the unpaved roadway from the house, Dean fumed, but he wasn't sure why. He came to a crossroads and stopped in it, contemplating his life in its entirety; his past, his future, his current situation. His mind was buzzing as he kicked around the dusty pebbles.

"I wish you wouldn't stand there."

Dean whirled around to see Cas standing directly in the middle of one of the four paths, smiling his small smile at Dean.

_That certainly makes choosing a direction easy._

Dean laughed quietly, feeling his panic quell minutely. "'Fraid I'm gonna make a deal?"

"You wouldn't have time to seal it," Cas stated.

Dean knew he was saying that he would smite the smithereens out of any Demon before Dean's lips got anywhere near it. And it was a possessive, semi-violent insinuation, but Dean didn't mind.

"You're upset," Cas informed him, and Dean laughed that Cas always felt the need to tell him about his own feelings.

"Nah," he lied. "Just... we haven't really talked about it but... I think Sam wants to stay. Here. With _her_."

The bitterness in his voice was childish, and Dean knew it.

Castiel nodded, understanding.

In all honesty, Dean liked Ivy. Too much - he already knew he'd love to have her as a sister. But it had been just him and Sam for so long, all their lives basically, and he found himself perpetually territorial. It was a hard line to walk, trying to keep his brother to himself, and trying to let him be happy.

He didn't want Ivy to be just one more person they lost.

He sighed heavily.

Castiel squinted into the distance, a breeze blowing through the grass and dusty road, the only sound between them for a while. "You don't want to stay?" he asked simply, though there was something complex behind it.

"I don't know," Dean sighed, answering honestly. "It's hard to even think about settling down, you know? Never thought... I just... There's more to do. Always is. There's still monsters and evil. And I tried to be normal before but... I don't think I can ever _not_ be a hunter. Not now." Dean looked down at his boots, shifting his weight absently. "Even if..." he didn't have it in him to finish the thought.

_Even if I really want it_.

They were quiet a moment, and then Castiel began to smile, and Dean noticed with a suspicious smirk of his own.

"Perhaps you need distance from the issue," Castiel suggested, a truly intoxicating spark in his eye. "A place far from your problems. To think."

Before Dean could respond Castiel had stepped in close, his palm pressing to Dean's jawline, his thumb tracing Dean's lips. Dean relaxed and closed his eyes.

There was a slight shift in the world around him, not so much disorienting, just a change in pressure. And when he opened his eyes, he was on a balcony, looking out at a bustling, but beautiful, and most definitely foreign cityscape.

Castiel gave him a moment to observe his surroundings.

"Europe?" Dean guessed broadly.

"France," Castiel stated. "Paris, to be exact."

"Oui oui," Dean joked in his absolutely ridiculous French imitation.

Castiel smiled, rolling his eyes.

"You brought me _here_ to think?" Dean joked.

"No," Castiel stated firmly, squaring his shoulders to Dean's. The door behind them clicked open (Dean realized, by Castiel's telekinetic doing) into a small but bright Hotel room with a large, plush bed.

Dean turned back to the angel, entranced by his blue-flame stare. "No?" Dean asked, his voice rough.

"No, Dean." Cas stepped in close, "I brought you here to _not_ think."

Dean barely had time to smile before they were fused at the lips, falling clumsily backward into the room.

. . . . .

Several hours and a great deal of debauchery later, they were lying in their overly fluffy Parisian bed, in their closet-sized Parisian room, the ceiling fan twirling lazily as the sweat was all but dry on their skin.

"Do you like Paris?" Castiel asked honestly.

"Can't say I've seen much of it," Dean smirked at the angel. "But yeah, so far it's awesome."

"It's the city of love," Cas denoted as if it were a little-known factoid. "I thought it appropriate."

Dean never would get over how seamlessly Cas could mingle bluntness and subtlety; it was a strange sort of gift.

They laid there, in their tiny hotel room, wrapped in their white sheets, breathing easily as the sun started to set on Paris outside the window. Cas settled down against Dean's body, laying diagonally across the bed, his head against Dean's arm and chest as Dean sat up against the headboard. They gazed out the dusty glass at the city, and Dean couldn't help but admit, it was beautiful.

_Ask him now, Dean. The timing is perfect. He couldn't say No if he tried. Ask him now._

Dean cleared his throat, toying with Castiel's fingers in his own, staring down at them.

"Hey Cas?" he started awkwardly, as if he were going to ask if he knew what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. Castiel shifted so that he could look at him. "I was, uh, wondering if you were thinking about this being, uh... long term."

Castiel tilted his head against Dean's arm, "You want to stay in Paris?"

"Uh, no. Don't get me wrong, it's great, but that's not really what I meant." Dean held a little tighter onto Cas' hand, hoping it might hide his nerves. "I meant... you and me."

Castiel's brow furrowed a moment as if he didn't understand, and then his face went smooth.

And Dean was relieved not to have to explain himself any further, but that relief was short-lived, when Castiel looked down, brow furrowed, and then settled back against Dean, no longer facing him.

Dean panicked inside.

"I am still a soldier of Heaven," Cas stated, sounding far too official for the intimacy of the conversation. "I can promise nothing of the future."

Dean's heart cracked in two.

Castiel must have heard it. He rolled over on top of Dean, laying his face to the man's chest, his ear resting over Dean's heart. "Except that I will love you," he promised against Dean's skin.

Dean's heartbreak was assuaged, remotely. But there was still the dull ache of knowing that Cas wouldn't be planning on a tomorrow. The world was too unpredictable, Dean supposed. But the impossible promise would have been nice to hear anyway.

. . . . .

When they returned to America Castiel returned to his work in Heaven, flitting in and out of Dean's life much like he once had - but with a great deal more frequency, and good news instead of bad. The good news usually being, that he was horny. The location or situation Dean was in when Cas did make himself available was a good indication of that. If Dean was halfway through a steaming hot shower and then suddenly there was and angel wrapped around him, it made Cas' intentions pretty clear. Sometimes Cas would appear, just for a moment, just to kiss Dean, and then leave again.

It was obvious he was having his fun, teasing Dean in a way. But it was so much of a dream come true, Dean hardly gave any effort into looking put-out.

One time, while Sam and Dean were working on the house, Castiel seemed to arrive simply to lean into Dean's back, his hands sliding lightly up his sides, and whisper in Dean's ear.

Sam had blatant eyes on the two, as if telling them to behave, _please_.

Castiel leant in and whispered and Dean's face flushed beet red. He looked at Castiel in a bashful kind of awe, "Where did you learn that?"

The Angel deadpanned, "Casa erotica."

Sam shot them a reproachful look, praying that A) they didn't forget he was there, and B) he never had to hear what gratuitous nastiness Cas whispered in Dean's ear that actually managed to make him blush.

The expression Dean shot Cas was a definite mixture of shock and appreciation.

"After our first sexual encounter I realized that it was decidedly in my best interest to study sexuality as much as every other facet of human existence. I have learned a great many things which I feel will very much please you. In fact, I am most likely more knowledgable than you now, as far as coitus."

Dean's eyes bugged as he stared at the presumptuous Angel. He laughed conceitedly, "I doubt that, Cas. See," he put on airs, giving his best sexy-eyes, "I'm uh, pretty damn knowledgeable."

Cas barely hid a smirk. "We'll see."

And then he was gone.

Dean immediately felt the challenge. "Oh we'll see alright!" he yelled at the empty air. "_You'll_ see." He nodded, the adrenaline of the challenge getting him worked up. Then he noticed Sam was still there, looking utterly displeased at the nature of the conversation, and Dean assured him, "He'll see alright."

Sam nodded in a patronizing way, but Dean couldn't care. He had to start wracking his brain for ways to blow that Angel's mind.

When Cas blew into the room a few hours later Dean all but tackled him, taking him down to the floor easily. Cas tended to put the super-strength on the back-burner when he was with Dean, which made the playing field more even - something they both liked.

Cas was pleasantly surprised to eat his words from earlier, having successfully revved Dean into a nearly incorrigible state of lust and desperate need to display his sexual prowess.

It made their entire previous conversation about dominance a moot point. But Castiel didn't mind, Dean was in his element. And he thoroughly enjoyed letting Dean prove it.

In fact, when they were done, and recovered, Dean stood over Castiel pulling him to his feet and the angel found himself embarrassingly wobbly in the legs.

They ate. They teased. They crashed lazily into Dean's bed, side by side, backs to the headboard.

A thought occurred to Dean - the broken pieces of his Castiel-mug had been brought with him from the Motel when he'd finally had mind to move out of the room. He kept it in a little cardboard box just beneath his bed - beside his extra salt rounds and sawed-offs.

Dean figured it was about time he put humpy dumpty back together again.

"Hey, can you do me an Angelic favor?" Dean started, hefting his body over Castiel's, stretching lazily over his lap to reach under Cas' side of the bed.

Cas' eyes narrowed suspiciously at the request, even as they traced every curve and plane of Dean's body, reveling in the feel of him, heavy and shifting in his lap.

Dean glanced up at Castiel, seeing the suspicious look and the simultaneous darkening of his eyes. "Relax, I'm not gonna ask you to smite anyone."

"Pity," Castiel deadpanned, "I haven't had occasion for smiting in quite some time."

Dean shook his head, chuckling as he practically sprawled on top of Cas, rocking over the end of the bed a little, knowing exactly what he was doing.

Cas, almost too smoothly, slid his hand to the back of Dean's thigh, then up to Dean's buttocks, smoothing over the fabric-clad swell of his cheeks. Dean turned his head to look at the angel with pure mischief in his eye. Cas shrugged, squeezing a little.

Dean managed to get as far as pulling the box up from under the bed, but he never did get to ask for that favor.

* * *

><p>Sam spent far too much time making absolutely sure they hadn't been slipped into some alternate reality by a Djinn or an Angel.<p>

Most people who've lived hard lives have a hard time believing that the good things will stay. Sam was like that too. Only he also had a hard time believing the good things weren't an illusion cast by a supernatural nemesis.

Life seemed almost too good to be true, and that made him nervous even while it made him happy.

But it wasn't all perfect, he supposed. For example, how he at 6'4" ended up sleeping in a just-under queen sized bed in a tin-can of a mobile home while Dean got that great big house to himself... Sam would never quite understand. But hey, he couldn't complain. Even with his feet hanging off the end of the bed, he was counting his blessings. From the feeling of legitimate safety, to the ruckus of the crickets outside the open window, to the warm summer breeze drying the sweat on his skin, and most of all, the pretty, fascinating, hilarious, and gloriously naked young woman slowly falling asleep beside him.

The way the moonlight came in the window, making her skin glow and her hair look like silk, he couldn't help but touch her, if only to prove to himself that she wasn't a dream.

He brushed a tress of her hair from her shoulder, reveling in the smooth skin there, the couple of beauty marks that freckled the curve. When he looked to her eyes, she was looking back, her eyes shining, a sleepy smile on her face.

He smiled back - big and goofy and entirely unhidden. She did that to him - made him feel light, almost silly, happy in a way that he couldn't push down under everything else like usual.

And when she bit her lip and leaned toward him, a spark of mischief in her eye, he knew exactly how thankful he was for that. And for her. And for how spectacularly well they played off each other physically - even cramped in this trailer. Sam felt as though with _this_ girl, it didn't matter where they were, how tired he was, how many of his fingers were stiff and bruised rebuilding that house all day, as long as she was involved his mind was likely to be blown. She'd proven to be spontaneous and adventurous, and funny but sincere in a mind boggling way. And she proven it on the bed, the kitchen counter, the bed of her pick-up, the grass right outside the trailer...

As he moved smoothly on top of her, parting his lips against hers and feeling her sigh against him, hitching a thigh over his waist, he couldn't help but think...

Let Dean and Cas have their fun in that great big house. He was fine right where he was.

* * *

><p>Dean had always believed in the <em>profound bond<em>. But now he was wondering if it wasn't growing even stronger. It was an exciting but terrifying thought - how utterly connected they'd become.

Sometimes even though he couldn't see Cas, Dean knew that he was there. He could feel him somehow, and he would speak out to him. Sometimes he would feel the ghost of lips on his cheek, or a breeze through the room, a tug at his heart. Just enough to confirm the angel was there, and to say that he wished he could do more than pass through.

But Dean supposed Heaven didn't really take a lunch hour.

Sometimes there would be messages, or gifts - Castiel might have left a newly acquired weapon on his bed (an odd sort of gift but romantic in his way) or Dean would wake up, sadly alone, but with a piping hot cup of coffee on the bedside table.

It was a nice way of knowing that even when they couldn't be together, they weren't really that far apart.

One dismal afternoon Dean was waiting in the Impala Sam to emerge from Ivy's trailer, when his driver's side window started to fog. Noticing the unnatural steam, Dean had his hand on his gun, ready to pull it on whatever the cause, when suddenly he stopped -

As if by invisible finger, a symbol was drawn into the fog on his window. Dean smiled as he recognized the _C_, with Angel wings on wither side.

By the time Sam got in the car what was left of the fog showed the fading symbol, dripping, easy to miss, but Dean's smile was firmly in place.

* * *

><p>Sam had been waiting for Dean to take the lead, to say once and for all in his cryptic <em>Dean<em> way, that they were going to stay. Or to command in his blatant _Dean_ way, that they were to go.

But he never did.

And while Sam was enjoying himself, he couldn't help the stab of guilt every time Ivy mentioned something she wanted to do in the future, then looked at him nervously realizing maybe she shouldn't make plans like that, then tried to cover it by talking about something else even though Sam could feel her hurt from across the room.

She wanted him to stay. She didn't dare ask him, knowing how important his life's work and his relationship with Dean was. Sam had been as clear about all that as possible, and Ivy had nodded and taken him with a grain of salt despite the fact.

But she couldn't stop the longing in her heart.

And neither could Sam.

Staying with her thus far was great, but it was starting to wear on him that he didn't know for how long he would be staying. And he'd been waiting for a sign from Dean, but the man seemed hopelessly stuck himself. So they didn't bring it up. Sam gave him time. And more time...

But the day finally came where Sam wanted to talk about it.

They'd come too far as brothers for Sam to demand they stay, or to tell his brother he intended to leave him. He knew that couldn't be how things went this time. Sam knew, that if he wanted Dean to understand, to maybe consider this, he had to make it clear that he would follow Dean forever, if that's what Dean needed, if that's what he decided. If only because he couldn't let his brother fight the world alone.

Sam would let Dean know, without a doubt, that he would stay with him if he decided they had to go.

But Sam would also let Dean know, that he loved this girl, that he would regret not being with her, that he would miss her and probably love her forever regardless of seeing he rarely if ever again.

Sam was a little ashamed of the manipulation, knowing Dean would feel guilty about breaking his little brother's heart. But Sam really did want to stay. Leaving her hardly felt like an option. And even more, Sam wanted _Dean_ to stay too. He wanted the both of them to slow down, settle, attempt to be even remotely safe. So he pulled out all the stops to make that happen.

And Dean had responded much like Sam had figured he would. He was resistant to the idea of staying, a little too lofty on his high horse about their responsibility of "saving lives". And then surprised but obviously touched when Sam promised not to make Dean do it alone, even if it meant leaving Ivy.

Ultimately, they came to a compromise - they would work, with this new home of theirs being HQ. It would be the place they always came back to. And they would always come back after a case. No more non-stop working, jumping from one case to the next. They would get into a rhythm, and Sam hoped, slowly work their way out of that life.

All in all, it was the smoothest any life-altering conversation had ever gone for the boys.

Dean's conversation with Castiel, had been a little more bumpy...

. . . . .

Practically high off of the ease of the decision that was made with Sam, Dean called Cas down to talk, to revisit the issue that had been lingering in him since the start.

Seeing Sam ready to make a commitment, ready to stay, made him want the same thing. Of course, being Dean, he attacked the issue head-on like John friggin' Cena - abruptly - attempting to strong-arm an _Angel_ into compliance.

When he called on Castiel, the angel could immediately see the tension and frustration in Dean's stance, his fists balled tight and his shoulders squared as if ready for a fight.

"I want you to promise me something," Dean started, his voice hard, like this was just another job.

Castiel nodded concisely, finding no reason yet to argue.

"I want you to promise me that you and me, this thing, is forever. No letting Hunting get in the way. No letting Heaven get in the way. Just you and me against the world, forever. I'm talking full-on 'til death do us part'."

Cas' eyes grew distant, suddenly understanding Dean's battle-stance. "Dean, I have explained this already-"

"No, you didn't. You gave me some half-baked crap about being the Host of Heaven and blah blah. But I want you to tell me that we're more important than that. I want you to promise that if you have to choose -"

"Dean," Castiel began, his voice tight and his eyes flaring, "my place is in Heaven."

"Your place is with me."

Silence.

_This is it_, Dean thought. _The impass. The divide we can't bridge._

They stared, the air in the room even going still, for fear of sparking these two titans.

"You know I love you, right?" Dean ground out. He thought it was obvious, but this was the first time he'd said the word. It felt dangerous to utter it, but necessary.

It had the desired effect - Castiel visibly softened at the claim, nodding that he did know.

"Then _what_?" Dean asked, frustrated.

Cas sighed heavily, obviously at his wits end, not understanding why Dean couldn't let this go. Dean waited for an explanation, and Cas didn't give it.

After minutes of silence Dean's resolve was starting to crack. He thought going at this thing head-on, tough, would make it easier. He thought that Cas might fold. But he gave no indication of doing so. He simply stood there. And Dean couldn't stand to think that Castiel might reject him. The thread of panic inside him started to unravel.

Dean all but begged, hating himself, "You left Heaven for me once before."

"To fight the Devil," Cas corrected.

Dean deflated, his heart wrenching. "I'm not saying it'll come to that," he offered. "But if it did," he knew exactly how needy it would sound and with the panic of losing Cas altogether rioting inside, he honestly didn't care, "you would leave Heaven for me... Right?"

Castiel said nothing.

"Not for a cause, for _me_."

Castiel looked down at the floor.

Dean was visibly shocked, literally taking a step back. Just as he'd begun to suspect, he alone, was not enough. "Wow..." he gave a self-deprecating laugh to cover the searing pain scooping out the semblance of safety he'd gathered within himself in the past few weeks.

"Dean," Castiel pleaded. But Dean threw his hand up to silence him. Cas started again, "What you're asking... Dean, I do love you. But I am what I am."

Dean said nothing, his back turned to Castiel.

Castiel became visibly flustered, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do to make you know that I love you. I try telling you, and you hear me, and I think you understand but then... But then it's as though we are having this same fight over again. Is there something I'm supposed to do, that I haven't done yet? Please, Dean. If there is, I'll do it."

Dean turned toward Cas, his eyes hard, but so obviously only to hide the hurt. "You could have said I was worth it."

Castiel struggled to make sense of Dean's emotions. He protested honestly, "I would do anything for you. You know this."

"Anything but promise to stay."

"I can't promise what I have no control over!"

"That's not the point!"

Cas sighed, throwing up his hands. He sincerely did not understand.

"I've never asked anyone to stay with me," Dean admitted quietly. "Not once." His jaw flexed, a familiar sign that he was fighting emotion and Castiel loathed to think he'd hurt him, but he didn't know what to say. Dean stated simply, "People leave me, that's how it works. That's how it's always worked. And I don't have it in me to grovel, to beg them to stay even if they don't feel like it," he bit coldly.

Castiel wanted to speak up, but he could think of no argument. Sadly, Dean _had_ been left, many times. Castiel hated the fact.

Dean's voice went thin, but low, as he attempted to cover his emotion, "But I'm askin' you. If it comes down to it, if the chips are down, I need you, to pick _me_."

Dean's every dark fear and vulnerability was right there, plain as day, and it was written all over Castiel's face that he could see it, his usual stoic expression now heartbreakingly sympathetic. Dean waited, his heart in his throat, feeling naked and defenseless, searching Cas' eyes for his answer.

Cas held his gaze, until he couldn't.

Castiel broke first. Dean had his answer.

Dean walked away, and Castiel let him.

* * *

><p>It was a hard couple of days after that. Cas had popped in often, feeling that he'd broken something between them but unsure he could identify what it was.<p>

Dean couldn't muster the strength to play along when Cas walked up and kissed him like everything was fine. And Cas could feel it. But he kept trying to make it right, by putting things back to normal.

It was an ignorant, childish attempt. But it was the only thing the awkward angel could think to do.

At first Dean didn't play along because he was angry. A dark part of him even thought maybe Cas was confusing love for lust, and when he'd gotten all he could out of Dean he would be bored and learn to 'love' someone else. It wasn't impossible - Cas barely knew what feelings were...

_No_.

Dean knew better. He could feel that Cas loved him. But he couldn't help but be confused. The angel had been willing to lay down his _life_, his _purpose_ and more, or so he'd said. Now he was backtracking?

Ultimately, Dean knew that he was too deep in this. Hopelessly so. He would take whatever Cas was willing to give, pathetic as that was, even if it meant that in the end, he would end up alone.

If Cas destroyed him, in the angel's own words, _so be it_.

Castiel showed up soon after Dean had made this resignation, hoping to show the man physically where his loyalties did truly lie. He took off his trench, throwing it over a sawhorse, and went to Dean placing a hand on his waist, another on his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. And Castiel kissed him as deeply, and as best as he knew how, letting his lips tell Dean without words how much he loved him.

And Dean seemed to understand, clinging to Cas, returning the kiss in kind with honest passion of his own.

But after weeks of the intimate and careful study of the hunter, Castiel was concerned when he felt that something had tainted Dean's heart's reaction to him.

Dean's heartbeat was slow, as if the thing could limp, its beat fractured somehow. The flip and flutter it would give whenever Cas arrived, or touched him, was ruined by a surge of heartache that would weight the thing down, as if reprimanding it for its excitement, and for its happiness. It was particularly obvious in this moment, where Castiel would expect the sound of rioting beats, he was greeted with a single skipped beat singeing with ache.

Dean was a physical kind of man. Castiel had been certain if he couldn't explain himself in words, he could certainly express through touch how sincerely he loved him. Castiel laid Dean out on their bed, giving him everything he could, making it slow and perfect, drawing every ounce of pleasure he could from the man.

Yet something in Dean's soul was restless.

Even as he brought Dean's body pleasure, there was an aching somewhere inside the man that tainted it with pain. Every touch Dean returned, was like goodbye. Every move, every caress, every twist of fingers in Cas' hair was desperate, as if Dean didn't know if it might be the last.

It only took a few hours after that for poor, oblivious Castiel to realize fully how much he had hurt Dean. He began to watch him, invisible, knowing the man would rail against such an invasion of privacy. But Castiel couldn't help it. And seeing Dean, alone in a house built for a family, quiet but not at ease, calm but not content, _lonely_, had Castiel wondering exactly why he'd been so certain he couldn't give Dean what he wanted.

Cas realized, after a great deal of self-examination, that it wasn't betraying Heaven he was concerned about; it wasn't betraying God he was afraid of.

It was giving up _home_.

In truth, Heaven had long since been Castiel's home, he'd said as much to Dean. But it was still his place of origin, the place he could go, in the event the world ended... in the event... that Dean no longer wanted him.

Heaven was always there. Even if it wasn't paradise for Castiel, in fact it was barely comfortable, at least it was there. A back-up plan.

If he chose to cut ties with Heaven, he'd have no back-up plan if things didn't work between them, if Dean didn't love him anymore. And that was terrifying.

Castiel realized, that Dean had done away with his own safety net, with much difficulty and bravery, and jumped into this at Castiel's insistence, and yet he himself had not done the same in return. He had thought he'd offered the same vulnerability, but he saw now, that he hadn't.

Not as long as he was still willing to put Dean second, in order to protect himself.

He could see now, what had to be done to repair the fracture in Dean's heart.

. . . . .

Dean was in the back yard, digging in the dirt to install a pipe when Castiel appeared beside him, an odd smile on his face.

"Hey," Dean smiled, and it was sincere, but his heart twinged at the sight of the angel.

Castiel could feel it, and his stomach turned, leaving him all the more resolved. "If it was fear that kept me from you, I would never be able to forgive myself."

Dean's eyebrows raised, surprised at the severity of such a statement in lieu of _Hello_. "Um..."

"Yes," Cas continued, absolute. But Dean merely blinked back at him. Castiel clarified, "The answer to your inquiry: Would I forsake Heaven for you and only you? Yes."

Dean squinted at the angel, not able to respond, his expression unreadable. But his heart thudded with hope.

"I am sorry, that I waited so long to tell you," Castiel added quietly, his eyes gazing anywhere but Dean in that familiar gesture of insecurity. "I was... It appears I was afraid." He gave an awkward laugh that had Dean nearly taking a step back from him out of pure shock. Castiel looked him in the eye, "I do love you, more than Heaven," he admitted, sincerely. "No matter how blasphemous that may be. And I would gladly lay down my sword for you."

Dean would have squirmed at the sound of the proclamation, like he was some kind of damsel and Cas was his knight, but he was just so damn _relieved_... he decided not to sweat the little things.

"I have taken action," Cas stated, stepping toward the visibly affected Dean, "in order to ensure I am able to be with you. Limiting my Angelic responsibility for the next five years, when I am to check in with Heaven for some rather ridiculous-sounding 'assessment'. I have... invented my own station. As of this day, I am... a Hunter's liaison. Keeping my Angelic power, but changing my location. If you allow, I would like to join you on your cases from time to time."

Dean could hardly believe his ears, and he certainly couldn't manage words. "S-so..." he choked out shakily, not able to finish, not willing to jinx what he thought he might be hearing.

Cas smirked at him, "I believe you would say I told them to _suck it_."

Dean smiled, but then suddenly his eyes went wide, "What if they strip your wings-"

"Then you'll have to teach me how to drive. You'll have to teach me a lot of things, I'm afraid. But... I won't regret it."

"It's not fair, if you're the only one who is sacrificing anything. That's not equal." Dean's face screwed up into a look of utterly childish distaste.

Cas smiled and shook his head, "Dean, do you honestly feel that you have not sacrificed enough?"

Dean gave a cold laugh.

Castiel stepped toward him and brushed his fingertips to Dean's collarbone, robbing the laughter and any remaining oxygen from the man's chest, "Giving up Heaven for you wouldn't be a punishment, it wouldn't be a sacrifice, it would be an honor. It would be my honor."

"Cas..." Dean started bashfully, looking down at the ground, his cheeks blushing.

"I know," Castiel put up a hand, "People don't really talk like that." He shrugged as if to say he couldn't help it.

Dean was glad he couldn't. He smiled up at Cas, then nodded his head toward the house. Slowly, shoulder to shoulder they made their way toward the old wreck that they both suspected was fast becoming _home_.

"So..." Dean asked easily, "What're we gonna do? I mean... what does this mean? For... us."

"I don't know. But I can assure you, we have plenty of time to figure it out."

Dean nodded, content with the answer. They wandered slowly across the grass, looking out towards the horizon.

Heading toward the house slowly, shoulders brushing, looking out at their plot of land, Dean thought about the possibilities, as Castiel smiled silently to himself.

Cas shifted, and the rustle of cheap trenchcoat fabric caught Dean's attention, causing him to look over just in time to see Castiel pulling something from his coat.

Without looking at Dean, Castiel handed him the cheap, ceramic mug, made whole once again. The slight, knowing smile on his lips was evident.

Dean took the mug in his hands, wondering at it like it was precious. It felt oddly like what he imagined a gold ring in a velvet box would feel like to most people.

He held onto it tightly.

* * *

><p><strong>The End.<strong>

**You thought I was gonna break them up there for a minute didn't ya? DIDN'T YA? Yeah, I had you goin'... But, I'm a sucker for a sweet resolution.**

**I _really_ hope that I wrapped it up to your satisfaction.**

**PS - i love you. **

**Yeah, _you_! You know who you are! All of you who stuck with me through lulls and bizarre chapters about Castiel breaking Dean's pants... (wtf?) Thank you guys so much! You made the "where is this going?" struggle SO worth it.**

**I've already got another story brewing, but in the meantime I'll be reading your stories for my own personal pleasure.**

**So until next time... See ya on the flip side!**


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